The Equatorial
by Admiral
Summary: The Common Man Project goes through growing pains as Enterprise experience's its first First Contact.
1. Teaser

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. and CBS-Paramount Television. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE EQUATORIAL**

**By Darrin A. Colbourne**

* * *

_She woke up in the middle of the night gasping for breath! Her lungs hurt from the effort! She tried to grab her chest, but something was holding her arms down, holding **her** down! There were people in her room, people in shadow! They were arguing with each other in some foreign language. She struggled against them, but it was no use! The ones holding her in the bed were too strong! One of the shadows barked what seemed like an order. Another pointed a rod at her. There was a flash of light, then nothing._

* * *

**TWO WEEKS EARLIER…**

"Range to go: 30,000 miles." Commander Mary McDonald called out from her place at the helm.

"Slow to Ahead Creep and turn us bow-on to the planet." Captain Christopher Pike said.

"Slow to Ahead Creep, Aye." McDonald said. "Answers Ahead Creep, turning bow-on to the planet."

Isabel Montoya's gaze was riveted on the main viewer as the _Enterprise_ conducted a high-speed pass over the first planet in the Juno Star System. She'd managed to force herself to stop biting her thumbnail - something she'd been doing since the ship reentered normal space - but she couldn't shake her trepidation.

Juno Prime would be the third planet they'd visited since the events at Shiva Three. The first, a small Mars-like world, was entering the final stages of planetary dormancy. Too small to maintain a thick, life-sustaining atmosphere, the world they'd found was cold and barren, devoid of all life save for a few hibernating microorganisms. The next world was at the opposite stage in its life. It was in the final throes of planet formation. There was violent seismic activity everywhere, the air was full of noxious gases and ash and even if there were enough water on the surface for life to get started in, the ambient heat, radiation and still-frequent cosmic impacts would kill most of it off. Both worlds were worth a look from a general scientific standpoint, but for the purposes of the Common Man Project they were a waste of time.

That was Montoya's problem. She wanted to get the project back on track, use it to get her mind off the incident with the Klingons - her mind and everyone else's - but she couldn't do that without having something relevant to the project to investigate. That meant sentient, civilized life. She knew intellectually that she had to be patient, that it was unreasonable to think that she would find new civilizations at every single stop, but her gut was at odds with her head. Deep down, it only made sense to her that since they were still so close to Known Space - which was teeming with sentient, space-faring life-forms - they ought to be encountering similar life-forms more frequently in the early stages of the mission.

She saw Juno Prime as a test of that sentiment. One of only a handful of planetary bodies orbiting a small yellow star, Juno Prime showed every sign of being a Goldilocks World. It was the right distance from its primary, the right size and the right mass to sustain a rich ecosystem. The next step would be to see if it had actually done so, and if that ecosystem in turn had produced a higher intelligence. The orbital fly-by would answer that question almost immediately.

"Sensors, report all contacts." Pike said.

"Captain, my only contacts are the major bodies of the system." Sensors said. "No Warp contacts out to four light-years, no spacecraft in orbit around the target world."

"Very Well. Report all surface contacts."

"Wait One…reading numerous power generation centers on the surface, several aircraft and sea-going ships. Most of the vessels are doing around twelve knots. All of the aircraft are operating in the low sub-sonic range."

"Any sign they're alerted to our presence?"

"No, Sir. All contacts appear to be transiting normally."

All at once Montoya felt herself relax. There were people on Juno Prime, and though they hadn't yet reached out to the stars they had achieved powered flight and navigation. That made them adolescent by Human standards, but definitely worth studying. The project was back on track.

"Very Well." Pike said. "Helm, bring us into synchronous orbit. Communicator, launch the Alert spacecraft and let's go to Emcon One." After the appropriate officers acknowledged and complied: "Let's stand down from Departure Stations and set a normal watch."

Pike was out of the center seat by the time the Communicator keyed her Intercraft control. "All Hands, Stand Down from Departure Stations," she announced. "Set Midwatch in Control." The Captain was out of the Control Room before she finished.

Montoya's gaze was still fixed on the main viewer as she went over to the center seat. As a result she overshot and almost bumped into McDonald as the Executive Officer made her way to the portside passage. "Sorry…" Montoya said.

"Patience, Commander…" McDonald began.

"I know, I know," Montoya said, "'the planet isn't going anywhere.'"

McDonald shrugged. "At least as far as we know at this point." They shared a smile, then McDonald whispered, "Have fun, dear," and left.

Montoya waited until the watch change was completed before she sat down. "Sensors, magnify the image on the viewer," She said.

"Aye, Sir." Sensors said. Juno Prime started to expand in the view. Montoya waited until the angle was wide enough for her to make out the lights of a large city as the ship entered the planet's shadow.

"Hold!" She called out. The image stopped expanding, giving her a good look at what might be Juno Prime's New York City or Paris. As she contemplated the lights, she got comfortable in the center seat and let herself get lost in thought.

Down there, now only about 23,000 miles away, millions, maybe billions of people were going about their daily lives. Maybe they were Humanoid, maybe they were truly Human, but in either case they seemed stable and content, and in cosmic terms they were close enough for her to spit at, and that left her with the need to answer a deceptively simple question:

Now what?


	2. Segment One

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. and CBS-Paramount Television. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE EQUATORIAL**

**By Darrin A. Colbourne**

* * *

"It's like the 1940s down there!" Lieutenant Ben Goren exclaimed with glee. "From what we can tell jet aircraft are still in the development stage, practically every surface ship is an oil-burner and they're still designing cars as if curved fenders and fishtails are more important than fuel efficiency and clean emissions!"

The Senior Staff was gathered in the Wardroom and seated at their customary places around the table. Goren and Lieutenant Gwendolyn Flores had been invited to help Commander Montoya explain the level of cultural and technological development the people of Juno Prime had reached. Goren had started things off, and naturally the engineer had begun with a discourse on the locals' technology, using the Wardroom monitor to display items of interest.

"The 1940's…" Commander McDonald said. "Pre- or post- the Second World War?"

"A little bit of both. For instance, we haven't detected any signs of an atomic program like the Manhattan Project, or any other sign of atomic or nuclear development. Also, while there do seem to be various powerful armed forces operating in several areas of the planet, there's no sign of any major buildup of forces along any notional borders, nor is there any outward sign of accelerated conventional weapons production. There's the usual 'eternal vigilance', but by and large Juno Prime seems to be at peace with itself. On the flip-side, we're detecting radar stations in different regions. Nothing really advanced. I'd say they're where we were in radar technology around 1949, 1950. Same for the active sonar systems we've managed to detect. We did find something really interesting, however." He used a remote control to switch to a new image on the monitor. It showed five boomerang-shaped aircraft flying at high altitude over patches of farmland.

"Flying wings." Commander John Adams said. He was suddenly much more attentive.

"Why are flying wings interesting?" Pike said.

"It took decades on Earth for flying wings to go from the early concepts to practical aircraft, starting with the B-2 _Spirit_. The all-wing design was always a sound idea, but in order to make it work there needed to be advances in avionics technology that simply didn't exist when guys like Jack Northrop were working on it. But that's a flight of large, prop-driven wings, and if Goren's right about these people's technological progress…did they seem to have any problems staying straight and level?"

Goren grinned and shook his head. "We tracked them for three hours and all they did was make a couple of course corrections."

Adams turned to Pike. "And that's what makes them interesting. It means the Junoans managed to find a solution to the wing's level flight problems a generation or two before we did."

"Okay," Pike said, "so we know they're smart. What else do we know about them?"

Goren changed the image again. "They're definitely humanoid."

"Why, Lieutenant," Dr. Philip Boyce said with a grin, "you've found sunbathers!"

The new image was of a crowded beach. Most of the people there were engaged in recognizable activities, like swimming and sailing, while others were playing games that weren't immediately recognizable. The most recognizable activity the Junoans were engaged in was tanning. Several of them were laid out on beach towels in various stages of undress.

"They weren't trying all that hard to hide, Doc." Goren said. "Anyway, what you have here are your classic sentient primates: two arms, two legs, upright and intelligent, aaaand…" He pressed another contact and the image started to zoom in until it was focused on a pair of sunbathers lying close together. "Two genders: Male and Female."

"At least as far as we can tell from external appearances." Lt. Flores said. "Their bathing suits don't leave all that much to the imagination, so you can see that they share our secondary sexual characteristics. The 'male' has broader shoulders and facial hair, while the 'female' has wider hips and breasts…"

"Oh, yes…" Goren muttered with a grin.

Flores shot him a look and continued. "Of course, we'd be able to confirm their genders if the male weren't lying on his stomach. His swim trunks are tight enough…"

"That is unfortunate," McDonald said, "but surely you managed to get images of other males?"

"We did," Flores said tightly, "but not really the kind of images we'd like, and there seems to be much more footage of the females." She stared daggers at Goren.

"I wonder why?" Montoya said, then she turned to stare at Goren.

Goren shrugged and looked innocently at the monitor. "I just asked the Sensor team I was working with to compile the best images of the natives that we could cull from the available recordings."

Pike, Adams, Boyce and Major Wayne Song chuckled quietly. McDonald pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. Commander Brigid Silas shook her head as well, but she couldn't hide a small smile of her own.

Montoya turned back to the image. She noticed something strange. "What's wrong with her nose?"

Flores took the remote from Goren and enhanced the image until the female sunbather's face filled the screen. "That seems to be a common trait. It's part of the bone structure, but we aren't sure what purpose it serves yet."

"All right," Pike said, "so now we've seen them. How do we proceed?"

Montoya cleared her throat unobtrusively and gave the speech she'd been rehearsing since Midwatch. "Aside from taking atmospheric samples using the ship's probes, we'll need to make several landings to collect environmental samples - soil, water, plant life. We'll also need to study the various fauna, which will likely mean taking aboard things like insects and small animals for study. We want to do as comprehensive an investigation as possible for comparison to the things we know about Earth and the other worlds in Known Space. As you know, what we're trying to find out is why there are humanoids on so many worlds. The best way to find the answer is to study the environments that spawned them."

"We're going to have to do all of that in secret, aren't we?" Silas said.

Montoya nodded. "I'd prefer to conduct the survey with the cooperation of the natives, but that would require being able to talk to them. Unfortunately, our linguist hasn't been able to translate their language yet."

"It's not for lack of trying." Goren said. "There's more than one language down there to learn. Jim's still trying to pick one to concentrate on."

"How badly does not being able to talk to the natives hamper the survey?" Song asked.

"It cuts us off from the best source of information," Flores said, "the people themselves. No matter how much data we gather from the rest of the ecosystem, what we really need is comprehensive data on the dominant lifeform - especially if it's humanoid - or everything else is a waste of time."

"What would you ask them if you could talk to them?" McDonald asked.

"I'd…ask them for volunteers."

"Volunteers?"

"For physical examinations. We could ask them to tell us about themselves, but we can't rely on anecdotal information. We'd have to examine them ourselves and take samples so we can study their biological processes, their DNA, things like that. If the rest of their scientific development is comparable to their technology, then there are probably things about their own physiognomy that they might not know, and that could include things we have to know in order to make detailed comparisons between them and us."

"So what options do we have if Lieutenant Greenfield can't find a way to talk to them before you're done with the rest of the survey?" Pike asked.

Montoya shrugged. "None really."

"That's a little _final_, isn't it?"

"Well…Wendy's right. We can't get people to volunteer to be studied if we can't communicate with them."

"But if you need to physically examine these people in order to do the survey properly…"

"Under the present conditions we'd have to choose unwilling subjects. We can't do that."

"Who says we can't?" Song said.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him. Montoya, for one, couldn't believe what she heard. "We can't just snatch people up and perform experiments on them. It would be a crime."

"Espionage is a crime," McDonald said, "but 'spying' is exactly what we've been doing in orbit for the past three days."

"And if you really want to get technical," Adams said, "we're also trespassing."

Montoya addressed her response to the Captain. "Experimenting on them against their will is different. It crosses a line."

"That may be true," Pike said, "but are you saying that if you and your people can't do your jobs without crossing that line you'd be willing to just pack up and go without getting everything you need?"

"We can always come back if there's a breakthrough in translating their language, or we could simply stay until we've made that breakthrough. I just don't want our impatience to cause us to take actions that we might regret."

Song continued to make his case. "I don't think you understand, Commander. I can set up a couple of Recon teams to track isolated Junoans on the planet's surface. If you send them down with some tri-corders they can get all the information you want and they wouldn't have to 'snatch up' anybody."

Goren raised a hand. "Um, that's not completely accurate, Major. The tri-corders have their limitations."

"They can be used to get a general picture of the Junoans physical make-up," Flores said, "but for the detailed picture we need we really need bodies to examine."

"Okay," Boyce said, "then how about corpses?" All eyes turned to him. "We can get a wealth of information by doing autopsies on them."

"That _would_ require snatching people up, wouldn't it?" McDonald said.

"It would, but at least we wouldn't have to take living people against their will."

"Just living peoples' loved ones without their knowledge or consent." Montoya said. "That's just as bad."

"And even if that weren't a consideration," Flores said, "forensic examination still only gives an incomplete picture because it's out of context. We could infer how their bodies function by cutting into dead ones, but that's no substitute for seeing how they work first-hand, and for that you need living subjects. Also, I'm not sure everybody here understands how many people we actually need to study."

Boyce raised a hand and smiled. "I understand perfectly, Gwendolyn."

"Then please explain it to the rest of us." McDonald said.

"Think about it, Number One: If an alien race came to Earth looking for a representative sample of Humanity would you consider yourself the perfect example of the race as a whole? Or would you, Major? Or you, Captain?"

"What are you getting at, Doctor?" Pike said.

"There are nearly four hundred Human Beings in this crew, hailing from several different regions on Earth and her colonies, yet not one of us is a good enough sample to define 'Humanity' to someone who had never seen a Human Being before. In fact, all four hundred of us put together are a poor sampling of the ten billion Human Beings that populate our little corner of the universe because the sample is too small and only marginally random."

Flores continued. "To do this right we need a real cross section of the Junoan population. We need to study men and women, the elderly and children, people from different regions and different ethnicities, and we won't even know how many of them we need to study, living or dead, until we know just how big the population is. I mean, it would just be more expedient to talk with them about it. We could ask for volunteers, or those of us with medical training could enter their medical schools and learn what we need to know the way the students do."

"But that just brings us back to my original question," Pike said, "which was 'What are our options if we can't talk to them?'"

With that everyone turned to Montoya, who was beginning to realize that Pike wouldn't accept "No option" for an answer. She decided to try stalling instead. "I don't want to think about that until we know for sure that we can't talk to them, and in the meantime there's more than enough work for us to do that can be done without disrupting the Junoans' lives."

Pike pondered that for a moment, then said, "Then get to it. Major Song and Commander Silas will assist you in setting up a landing schedule, and I'm sure the good Doctor will be happy to assist you in your research. It'll be business as usual for the rest of us, so we'll need to maintain a normal watch schedule, Number One. I want regular progress reports on the survey, but I don't expect that we'll need to meet on the subject again until we have a firm idea of what we want to do about studying the Junoans" - he looked pointedly at Montoya - "which I hope will come sooner than later. Any questions?" No one had any. "That'll be all, then."

McDonald stood first. "All right, everyone. You have your orders. Dismissed."

On her command the Department Heads stood and filed out of the Wardroom, along with the two researchers. That left Pike and McDonald alone. "Still a work-in-progress, I see," the Captain said.

McDonald turned to him. "There _has_ been progress, however, and her reluctance in this instance is understandable."

"Understandable, maybe, but is it practical?"

"Maybe not, but what about this mission is? Will that be all, Sir?"

Pike nodded. "Carry on, Number One."

"Aye, Sir." With that, McDonald left the Wardroom, leaving Pike alone.

* * *

Pike opted to eat dinner in his quarters that night. He used the time to get caught up on paperwork and to go through some of his mail. He saved the personal correspondence for last. Most of that was vid-mail from family members, but the one that intrigued him most was a vid-letter from a friend and colleague. He smiled for most of the time her face was on the screen of his datapad, and only partly because of what she was saying. "…you're fast becoming a legend in the O-clubs back home, Chris! Honestly! Over a decade since any Starfleet ship fires a shot in anger and not two months into your latest assignment you light up some backwater planet like a Christmas Tree! That is a stunt worthy of 'space story' legend, my friend!"

Pike sighed. _Guess I'm not going to live that one down any time soon…_

"Now, I know…that momentary lapse in judgment wasn't entirely your fault. You've got a boatload of passengers to keep satisfied, and we all know civilians like big light shows, so that ought to keep 'em happy for a while." Her tone became conspiratorial. "Besides, we've all seen your Science Officer's picture on the Space Probe Agency site. I know more than a few people who wouldn't mind blowing up a planet if she asked…of course, we've also been hearing stories about her, and there's more than a few people who wouldn't mind dumping her on the planet _before_ they blew it up! Did you know she was at that big disarmament rally on Mars back in…"

The doorchime sounded just then. Pike paused the letter and set the 'pad on the table. "Come in."

Montoya walked in a moment later. "I was hoping we could talk. Is this a bad time?"

"Not at all." Pike said. He pointed toward his desk. "Pull up a chair."

Montoya nodded and went over to get the desk chair. She took the opportunity to get a better look at the decorations on and around the desk. There were several pictures on the wall above it, including Pike's Academy graduation picture, images of him with his parents and siblings and a few with him standing near attack fighters with other pilots. The desk itself was bare and orderly save for his computer and three small starship models. Montoya didn't recognize the other two, but the third was a detailed replica of the _Enterprise_.

She pulled the chair near the table and sat down. That's when she noticed the 'pad next to Pike's plate. The woman on the screen was brunette, pretty and smiling as if she were about to relay some juicy gossip, but the playback had been paused before she could. "Friend of yours?" Montoya asked.

Pike looked at the 'pad. "From the Academy. Her name's Charlotte Rider. She's the exec aboard the _Patton_ now." He touched a contact on the 'pad, turning off the screen, then gave Montoya his full attention. "What's on your mind?"

Montoya was a little disappointed. She would have liked to find out more about Charlotte Rider, but Pike didn't feel like sharing, and she had come to see him about more important matters anyway. "What do you think we should do about the Junoans?"

Pike smiled. "You've still got that backwards. It's up to you to tell me what _you_ think we should do."

"You don't really need my input to have an opinion, or to decide on a course of action."

"Actually, my orders say I do need your input as far as the scientific aspects of the mission are concerned, but either way, it doesn't mean I don't want to hear what you have to say."

"It's just that…this morning in the Wardroom you didn't seem all that concerned about what Major Song and Doctor Boyce were suggesting."

"Their suggestions made sense. Should I have been concerned?"

"I just wonder if it's right to even consider conducting physical examinations on these people without their consent, no matter how we'd do it?"

"You mean, should we be invading their privacy that way?" Montoya nodded. "Well, if you take that sentiment to its logical conclusion, should we even be here at all, listening in on their radio transmissions, tracking their ships and planes, imaging them in their swimsuits? Would you think all of that was right from their point of view?"

"Probably not."

"But if we're not doing all that, are we doing our jobs?"

"I understand what you're saying, but I can't make myself think of such a violation as 'just doing my job'. It's only right to ask them first."

"If you can. Right now, we can't, so what do you do if that condition never changes?"

Montoya thought about it for a minute, then said, "I find some other way to do my job."

_Good answer_, Pike thought, then he said, "While you're looking, I wouldn't discount the Major's and the Doctor's advice too quickly. I've been where you are, and one of the things I learned while I was planning missions was that Medical Officers and Landers are probably more goal-oriented in their thinking than the rest of the Fleet."

"They don't know the meaning of the word 'impossible'?"

"Oh, they know the meaning. They just don't think it applies to _them_." They both smiled at that, then Pike asked, "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

Montoya sighed quietly. That was the Captain's way of letting her know that her audience was over. "No, Sir," she said, then she got up and moved the chair back to the desk. Just before she left, she said, "I'll have the proposed landing schedule ready for you before you go on watch tomorrow morning."

"Very good. Carry on, Commander."

"Aye, Sir." With that, Montoya left.

When he was alone again Pike reached for the 'pad, then leaned back in his bunk as he resumed the playback. "…Sixty-Three? The way I hear it, when the Governor sent the regional cops in to keep things from getting out of hand she was one of the protestors who…"

* * *

Its official name in the ship's schematics was Barracks Deck, but it was known to the crew as the "Gun Deck." It was one of those designations that had been lost on Montoya because it made no sense when taken literally (the only things on _Enterprise_ that could be considered guns, the particle cannons, were mounted in recesses just under the Command Deck, three decks down) and the only time she'd ever asked why it was called that she'd been told, "Because that's where the Landers sleep," which she assumed would have made perfect sense to a Lander, or anyone else whose career involved adhering to meaningless traditions.

Still, it was where the Landers slept, so it was where Montoya needed to go after her talk with Pike. She wanted to talk face-to-face with Major Song about Juno Prime. She found him in Officers' Quarters on the Gun Deck playing Poker with three of his officers. "Evening, Commander," he said, after glancing up from his hand, "what brings you all the way up here?"

"I was hoping to talk to you about the Junoans." Montoya said. "Do you have minute?"

"I will, soon as I'm done taking this pot." He grabbed some chips and dropped them into the pile at the center of the table. "Raise you fifty."

The Lander opposite him, a Captain, added some chips as well. "Call," he said. The other players, two Lieutenants, had already folded. "Let's see 'em, Skip," the Captain said.

Song grinned. "You know the old saying: Read 'em and weep!" He showed his hand with a dramatic flourish. The four-of-a-kind was met with faux Ooohs and Ahhhs from the lieutenants and an honorary nod from the captain.

"Aw, that's pretty," the captain said, "that's real pretty…but not as pretty as _this_!" Then he showed his hand with a loud "KA-BAM!"

"Ah, dammit…" Song muttered on seeing the royal flush the captain had been holding.

"Ooh!" One lieutenant said. This time it was genuine. "One shot, one kill!"

"You know, Skip," the captain said as he collected the pot, "it's a good thing you live in base housing back home 'cause you'd've _been_ lost the mortgage in this game!"

"Yeah, Skipper," the other lieutenant said, "you really suck at this."

Song gave him a stern look. "That's '_Sir_' to you, wise-ass!"

The lieutenant sat up straight and looked Song dead in the eye. "Yes, _Sir!_ You really suck at this, _Sir!_"

"Whatever…" Song said as the other players laughed. "Deal me out of the next hand, Ford."

"Aye aye, Sir." Captain Ford said with a grin, then he turned to look at Montoya. "Guess your extraction team came over the beach just in time, huh?"

"Screw you." Song said as he got up, then he went over to Montoya. "Let's go into my office."

Song's office - a space set aside in the O-quarters for the commander of the ship's Lander detachment - was barely as large as a decent-sized walk-in closet. There was just enough room for a desk, an extra chair and Song's combat rifle, which was resting at-the-ready in a corner near the desk. Montoya found it claustrophobic, so she was gratified when she saw that the automatic door had been locked in the "open" position. As they sat down, Montoya's gaze was drawn to the holographic display cube sitting on the corner of the desk, the only decoration in the space. It showed video footage of, alternately, Song's wife and three sons.

"You have a beautiful family," she said with a smile.

Song turned to the cubed and smiled as well. "Thanks. The boys are great, and I don't know what I'd do without Kiri."

It was just what Montoya wanted to hear. "Then suppose I told you I wanted you to collect biological data on the four of them without them or anyone else knowing about it and without disrupting their lives very much. Could you do it?"

Song couldn't help but turn to Montoya in shock, but the surprise lasted only long enough for him to realize what she was asking him. "Exactly what data would you need?"

"Lieutenant Flores can give you the details, but it will mostly be blood and tissue samples."

"Will our targets be living or dead?"

"Living. I don't want to take anyone off the surface if I don't have to, and I certainly don't want to desecrate the dead."

Song smirked. "So, no field autopsies?"

"No, and if you find you can't get what I need without causing significant collateral damage I want you to let the targets go. Can I count on you to do that?"

Song thought about it for a minute, then smiled. "Give me a chance to talk it over with some of my guys. If there's a way to do all that the way you want it done, we'll find it."

Montoya smiled back. "I'll have to trust you then."

"Don't worry, Isabel. I'm a lot better at this stuff than I am at playing Poker."

"It would be cosmically impossible for you to do _anything_ worse than the way you play Poker, Sir!" Ford's voice boomed in.

Montoya couldn't help but laugh. Song just frowned, then he stood up. "If you'll excuse me, Commander," he said, "I've got some people I need to take to the woodshed."

Montoya stood and let Song escort her out of the office, then she made her own way out of the quarters as the Major went back to the game.


	3. Segment Two

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. and CBS-Paramount Television. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE EQUATORIAL**

**By Darrin A. Colbourne**

* * *

Ben Goren went straight to the Ops Officers' Stateroom immediately after change-of-watch. He had little to do before the Juno landings got underway and he planned to spend most of his wait-time dreaming blissfully away in his bunk. When he entered the room he spotted Lieutenant Jim Greenfield sitting at one of the desks. The archeologist/linguist was staring intently into the display of a datapad operating with the volume turned way up. "Okay, isn't this exactly how we left you this morning?" Goren said to him. "Did you go anywhere at all today?"

Greenfield looked up at him, then paused the 'pad and checked his watch. "I went to the bathroom a couple of times," he muttered. "Does that count?"

Goren shook his head and went over to the bunks. "I think you ought to grab something to eat and get some shut-eye. The boss has you slated to lead one of the landing teams, right?"

Greenfield put the 'pad down and rubbed his eyes. "That's right."

"Well, all the landings are going to be conducted when it's night over the landing zones. There's no telling what that's going to do to your internal clock. I, for one, intend to bank as much rack-time as possible before we get started."

"I guess you're right. It's just that I finally managed to find something useful in all the radio and television programs we've been picking up and I wanted to follow up on it."

Goren turned to him. "What was that you were watching?"

Greenfield picked up the 'pad and tossed it to him. Goren resumed the playback and turned the sound down. After a minute or two of watching he got a funny look on his face. "Is it just me," he said, "or is this a children's program?"

"That's exactly what it is," Greenfield said, "and you wouldn't believe how many different children's shows I had to subject myself to just to find the _right kind_ of children's show, one that was dedicated to educating youngsters."

Goren nodded in understanding. "You mean the kind sponsored by the letter 'C' and the number '4'?"

"Exactly. I can listen to all the recordings I get and mimic what's being said in them, but I'd have no real idea what I was saying without the necessary context. That show gives me the context I need."

"Maybe…but isn't it going to take a while to learn to speak this language using the Junoans' Sesame Street as a starting point?"

Greenfield chuckled mirthlessly. "Only about five years. Four if I apply myself."

Goren laughed. "Great. We'll just spend the rest of the mission here. Everybody'll love that." He turned off the 'pad and tossed it back to Greenfield, then climbed up to his bunk.

"Who gets to give Commander Montoya the bad news?" Greenfield asked.

"It's your bad news," Goren said as he settled in, "you get to break it."

* * *

Montoya didn't want to relay the bad news to Pike without having a contingency plan ready, so she set up an impromptu meeting in the Wardroom with Silas, Song, Boyce and Flores soon after she heard. She got the meeting started by explaining the situation to the others, then she turned to Song. "It looks like we'll have to go with your solution after all, Major. Have you thought about how you'll do it?"

Song folded his hands on the table and began. "Obviously, the most important aspect of this operation is going to be secrecy, so if we're going to do this we need to pick our humanoid specimens from the most sparsely populated areas of the planet. The best place to start would be farming communities. They're large tracts of land with relatively small numbers of people living on them. We can pinpoint likely subjects and do what we need to do without announcing our presence to the whole world."

"Will we have to kidnap the subjects?" Montoya asked.

"I don't expect so. If we land at night we can sedate the subjects while they're in their own beds and conduct our examinations without them knowing anything about it."

"Will your men be the ones taking the samples we need?"

"Actually, I was hoping the Doctor could help us out with that." He turned to Boyce. "Can you lend me a couple of your corpsmen to work with the teams?"

"Of course." Boyce said.

Song nodded and turned back to Montoya. "In that case the corpsmen can take the samples. I can set up two teams of four Landers and one corpsman. The Landers will get the corpsmen to the targets and provide mission security during the procedures."

Silas let out a sigh. "There goes my reserve."

Everyone turned to her. "What does that mean?" Montoya said.

"Well, we've already set up a flight schedule that will keep two Workhorses busy transporting the other survey teams. The plan was to keep the third one in reserve in case someone needed quick resupply or extraction. Now we'll have to dedicate it to transporting the Lander teams."

"So you're saying we can't do that?"

"I didn't say 'can't', Isabel. It just complicates things. We'll have to keep all the active ships on station in case of emergency, but doing that increases our overall risk."

Montoya thought about it for a moment. "We'll just have to take that chance," she said, then turned back to Song. "What else do you need?"

"Access to all the topographical data we've collected so far," he said, "as well as intelligence on whatever looks like military or law enforcement installations near the targets we select. It'll take about a week to do the necessary prep work, so you'll have your reserve spacecraft for at least that long, Brigid. After that, all we really need is a specific list of the samples we're going for."

That was Flores's cue. "I could give you a list, but I think it would make more sense if I went with one of the teams."

There was an awkward silence as the others tried to figure out how to respond. Montoya went first. "Wendy, you're already set to lead one of the other survey teams."

"Constance Price can take my place. This is the more important mission. I should be going on it."

"All due respect, Lieutenant," Song said, "you're not qualified to go on this mission."

Flores looked at him as if he were senile. "It's a mission to collect exobiological data. I'm an exobiologist. How am I not qualified?"

"You don't have the necessary training in the skills required for the mission that have nothing to do with exobiology."

"Okay, so I'm not a Lander, but neither are the two corpsmen you're taking along."

"That's true," Boyce said, "but they _do_ have the necessary training to work with Landers, as well as other Starfleet Special Forces units. He's right. If we're going to pull this off the best thing is to send the corpsmen to do the dirty work."

Flores started to say something else, but Montoya stopped her by putting a hand on her wrist. "I think that makes sense. Major, I'd appreciate it if you would form your teams and I'll see to it that you get all the information you need to plan the landings. Doctor, I'm sure Wendy would appreciate your help in setting up her requirements list. Brigid, would you please adjust the flight schedule to include transports for Major Song's teams once they're ready to deploy?" Everyone responded with nods in turn. "Well, I guess that's everything." Montoya offered the friendliest smile she could manage and stood up. "Thank you for coming, everyone."

The Starfleet officers stood out of habit and nodded again before filing out of the room. On her way out Silas offered smiles to both Montoya and Flores, a friendly one to the Science Officer and an apologetic one to her deputy.

Montoya didn't move her hand until the Wardroom door had closed behind the others. She only got it a few centimeters away from Flores's wrist before Flores pulled her hand away roughly and shot up, bursting out, "What the _hell_ was that?"

"Wendy, they were right. It's better if you tell the corpsmen what they need to get and let them go with the Lander teams."

"Since when?"

"Doctor Boyce himself said they would work better with the Landers, and I'm sure he wouldn't have supported using them if he thought they weren't also qualified to do the work you need them to do."

"Oh, come on, Belle! Look, medical corpsmen make fine nurses and great paramedics and I'm sure in the middle of a triage situation they'd even make adequate surgeons, but they learned how to do all that by studying _human_ physiology. Juno Prime is an _alien_ world, and for all we know the Junoans are only superficially human. If that turns out to be the case when we start poking and prodding them there should be someone down there with the background to deal with any problems. There's no one on this ship more qualified for that mission than me!"

"Which also means you're too valuable to risk if there _is_ a problem. The corpsmen are…"

"Expendable?"

"For lack of a better word, yes."

Flores just stared at Montoya for a moment, then said, "The Isabel Montoya I know would never consider any person 'expendable'."

Montoya put her hands on Flores's shoulders. "Wendy, I _am_ the Isabel Montoya you know. Look at it this way: teams as small as the ones Major Song is proposing will likely be made up of nothing but enlisted personnel. If you go, you'll effectively be the officer-in-charge."

"Why is that a bad thing?"

"It means I'd be putting a relatively inexperienced officer in command of the Landers and corpsmen. I doubt Doctor Boyce would have a problem with that, but I'm sure Major Song would."

"Then it's _his_ problem, not ours."

"It's _my_ problem if I want to guarantee Song's cooperation."

"You want a guarantee? _Order_ him to let me go."

"That wouldn't stop him from objecting to putting you in charge of the mission. I would be obligated to relay his misgivings to Pike and McDonald and I'm not sure they'd come down on my side of the issue. It would just be more expedient to let him form the teams the way he wants. I need those teams."

"But you don't need me?"

"Of course I need you, Wendy. I need you to take charge of the survey team I assigned you to and trust that I know what I'm doing with regard to collecting data on the Junoans."

Flores crossed her arms and shook out of Montoya's grip. "Fine, _Commander_, but for the record allow me to object to the fact that you're trusting a delicate scientific investigation to someone who makes his living killing people and breaking things!" With that, Flores turned on her heel and stormed out of the Wardroom.

Montoya sighed when the door closed again. "Don't you think I know that?" She muttered.

* * *

The Lander teams were ready to go less than a week later. They were designated Voyeur One and Voyeur Two and scheduled to conduct alternate landings. Voyeur One would be what Song had called the "guinea pig" team. Since there was no practical way to rehearse the landings aboard ship, it would be up to Voyeur One to run the sample recovery mission cold and prove - or disprove - the whole concept. What they learned on the first landing would serve as an example of what to do and what not to do for the rest of the mission.

Flores and Greenfield's survey teams were getting ready for their own missions when Voyeur One stepped into the hangar to board their transport. Flores couldn't help but stare at them. The purely scientific teams had been going down to the surface wearing Work Colors and whatever weather gear was appropriate. Voyeur One was in full battle dress, wearing gray-green fatigues, helmets and body armor and shouldering light field packs. Also, while the regular survey teams were armed only with Phasers, Voyeur One was also equipped with combat small arms. Montoya had insisted that the teams carry the non-lethal weapons, but Song had been adamant that some kind of lethal weapon would be necessary, so the team carried combat knives and Childress particle weapons.

Voyeur One's team leader was Staff Sergeant Tomoyuki Togusa, a veteran of the Reunification War and the Landing Force's Recon Battalions. The other team members were Lance Corporal Friedrich Heinemann, Landers Gideon Mbinga and Jason Savage and Medical Corpsman First Class Gabrielle Depardieu. The diminutive Parisienne looked even tinier in the company of her six-foot-plus teammates, but Flores reasoned that the girl hadn't been chosen because of her size.

The lieutenant couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as she saw Depardieu and the Landers board their transport. Irrational as it might seem, she saw the Voyeur teams as horning in on what she considered her territory. To her it was a symptom of a deeper problem. _Enterprise_'s portion of the Common Man Project seemed to be getting more out of her friend's control as Montoya spent more time trying to be a better officer. Flores wondered if it was the same on the other ships. Were all the Science Officers falling prey to military pressures? If so, was there something that could be done about it? She couldn't know one way or the other, but she could see it happening here, and all she could do was make her concerns known to Belle. They hadn't talked about anything but business since the landings had started. Flores decided that they would have to make time for a real heart-to-heart sometime soon.

* * *

The Communications Officer turned to the center seat. "Sir, Haulers One through Three are at Alert-5. One and Two are on the Flight Deck and 'Go' for launch."

"Launch the alert spacecraft." Montoya said. The flight schedule had been organized so that most of the sorties were being launched and recovered during her watch. The arrangement gave Montoya the ability to manage the whole survey from Control, but deprived her of the opportunity to do the one thing she wanted to do most, which was go down to the planet herself. As Haulers One and Two cleared the bow of the ship she felt a twinge of jealousy of her own. _You should be happy you get to go at all, Wendy_, she thought as she remembered their confrontation in the Wardroom. All Montoya had was the vicarious thrill of watching the transports land, and even that required effort. The Workhorses had all been painted over with the same deep black paint used on the Cavaliers, which meant that while descending in the planet's shadow there was nothing to see of them on the screen but their Sub-Light exhausts.

Montoya's heart started beating a little faster as Hauler Three cleared the bow. Gwendolyn Flores's team was in Hauler One and headed for one of Juno Prime's tropical regions, while Jim Greenfield's team was in Two and headed for the planet's southern pole, both routine missions. Hauler Three, carrying the Landers and corpsman, was headed for a patch of farmland on the planet, on a mission that was anything but routine.

* * *

"Hauler Three is Feet-Hot and proceeding to target." Lieutenant Samuel Ochoa radioed to _Enterprise_. It would be the last transmission the Workhorse pilot would make to the ship before the (hopefully) successful completion of the mission. For now he simply concentrated on getting the transport on course to the farm. Their reentry had already been planned to avoid most of the major air routes that could be mapped out from orbit. The overland flight had been plotted to avoid nearby major population centers and to allow Ochoa to use as little engine power as possible, effectively riding Hauler Three to its destination on the local jet streams. In this profile, anyone who managed to see the ship en route would see nothing more than a fast, ill-defined dark silhouette in the night sky.

Ensign Beruz Ajami, Ochoa's co-pilot, turned his head to yell into the passenger compartment, "Ten minutes to target!" SSGT Togusa, in the right-front passenger seat, acknowledged the announcement with a nonchalant wave and then promptly shut his eyes and went to sleep. Heinemann and Mbinga followed suit soon after.

Depardieu looked on in mild shock, then turned to Savage as he started to drift off and asked, "Should we be sleeping at a time like this?"

Savage opened one eye and nodded. "There won't be anything better for us to do for a while but watch the flyboys fly the plane, so why not get some shut-eye?"

"I don't think I could sleep. I'm too nervous. What if something goes wrong?"

Savage smiled. "We're all nervous, but look at it this way: What if whatever goes wrong puts you in a situation where you won't have any chance to get some sleep for a while? Wouldn't you be grateful for whatever rest you got beforehand?"

Depardieu shrugged. "I suppose so…"

"There you are." With that Savage closed his eyes and was soon snoring away.

"There you are," Depardieu whispered. She sat back and closed her eyes, but knew she wouldn't be able to relax enough to sleep. She knew that Togusa was a veteran and had done work like this many times during the war, and while she didn't know the extent of the others' experience she was sure that they were used to undertaking this kind of mission. It would be an unqualified first for her. Stationed in hospitals and hospital ships for most of her time in Starfleet, the last time she even thought about doing anything like this was when she was first trained for it years ago. The Combat Unit Support course was a requirement for anyone wanting to be a Medical Corpsman, but Depardieu had never been given an assignment where she could put what she learned into practice, and she'd expected that to remain the case for the rest of her career. Now she realized that fate had different plans, so while her teammates slumbered Depardieu spent the intervening minutes going over her training and making sure she hadn't forgotten anything important.

The time went all too fast for her. "Two minutes!" Ajami called back.

Togusa's eyes snapped open. "You heard the man, Ladies!" He called out. "Naptime's over! Shake it loose and check your gear! Freddy, you're up!"

Togusa's shouts were enough to bring the other Landers back to alertness. Everyone had his pack sitting in the aisle next to him. Togusa, Mbinga, Savage and Depardieu reached over to make sure everything in their packs was secure, then checked to make sure their Phasers and handguns were in working order. Heinemann went a step further. He drew his Phaser and some equipment from his pack. By adding a shoulder stock, trigger and grip and low-light scope to the flashlight-like weapon, he turned the Phaser rod into a short Phaser Rifle, something he'd use to kick off the mission when they were over the target.

"Gear up!" Togusa called out when he saw Heinemann was ready. Everyone in the passenger compartment stood and put on their packs, then made their way into the cargo area, bracing themselves against the turbulence of the Workhorse's descent. Once in the cargo area the team split up and grabbed handholds on either bulkhead and faced the cargo door. Heinemann was closest to the door by design.

"One minute, on final," Ajami's voice sounded in their helmet radios. Togusa acknowledged by touching his transmit contact twice, then signaled Heinemann. The lance corporal shouldered his rifle and pointed it toward the cargo door just as the door began to open, while the nearest Lander to him, Savage, grabbed Heinemann's pack and tightened his grip on his handhold.

What came next would depend on fancy flying and timing. Just as the cargo door opened completely Ochoa gave the ship a few degrees of nose-up. This gave Heinemann a view of the fast-moving ground through his scope. As he waited for his target he made sure the Phaser was set to produce its tightest and most powerful beam, then counted down until the moment he expected to see the target, a four-legged animal the mission planners assumed was some kind of Junoan watchdog. He stood as still as possible, keeping his weapon trained on the ground and hoping the flyboys were taking him along the right path. He needn't have worried. Soon he began making out the right landmarks, which allowed him to pick out the right bright moving blob from the dark green background as it passed into his vision. He tracked the target and fired, then lowered the weapon as he saw the target stop moving. He keyed his mike. "Fido is down," he announced to everyone.

Ochoa took that as his cue to bring up the engines and come in for a powered landing. He waited until they were almost on top of the landing zone, a grassy field that - hopefully - was far enough away from the main farmhouse to keep the engine noise from waking the subjects. The ship was barely on the ground a few seconds before Heinemann brought his weapon up again and ran down the boarding ramp. He stood to the side and watched the surrounding fields as the others disembarked, Phasers drawn. Savage took the lead, followed by Depardieu. Togusa and Mbinga fell in step on either side of Depardieu. Heinemann fell in behind the others, then as one the team broke into a steady jog in the direction of the farmhouse. As they ran, Ochoa put the ship's engines on standby.

Team One took a direct path to the farmhouse, finding their way in the dark with low-light goggles mounted to their helmets. They ran through two fields filled with neatly-planted rows of something that looked like wheat along the way. The grainstalks looked ready to harvest.

They slowed down when they reached the open ground around the farm buildings, approaching their target spread out and at a swift march. As they walked, Togusa spotted "Fido" in the distance to his left. Viewed from ground level the animal looked like some kind of outsized, deformed sheep, a look that ran counter to the watchdog-like actions that it exhibited when they staked out the farm from orbit. Togusa supposed it was more dangerous than it looked, but he was glad he wouldn't have to find out for sure.

The farmhouse was a two-story wooden structure with a medium-sized front porch. Fortunately, there weren't any lights on. When he reached the porch steps Savage gave the others the hand-signal for "Hold." The rest of the team stopped short and kneeled on the ground as Savage climbed onto the porch and approached the front door. Slowly, carefully, he tried the door handle. The door unlatched with a soft click.

Savage smiled. One of their guesses had paid off. They had assumed that if the Junoan farmers were like old-fashioned Earth farmers they wouldn't waste energy locking their doors. Fido's bark served as an alarm system, which when activated would alert the man of the house to retrieve his theft-deterrent system, namely whatever passed on Juno Prime for a double-barreled shotgun. With Fido silenced the occupants of the house would literally be caught napping. So far so good.

Savage pushed the door in gently, then scanned the living room, sweeping his Phaser in synch with his gaze. There was no one in the room and he saw no evidence of another watchdog. The furnishings were all easily recognizable for what they were: a couch, some chairs and tables, all plain and mismatched. There was even something that looked like an old-time console radio, a big ornate thing with a decorated face and big knobs.

Savage stepped in and held the door aside, then waved the others in. As discussed, Togusa and Mbinga went in next. Mbinga went through the living room into the kitchen while Togusa stood at the bottom of the stairs and trained his Phaser upward. Mbinga came back into the living room when he found no one in the kitchen and no indoor access to the cellar and gave his colleagues the all-clear signal. Savage waved the others in. Depardieu came in through the door a second later, followed by Heinemann. With his whole team inside, Togusa motioned for Savage to lead the way upstairs.

Savage, Mbinga and Togusa snuck up the stairs and spread out when they reached the second-floor landing. They searched each room for the farmhouse's occupants. When they were done Togusa came back to the landing and motioned for Depardieu and Heinemann to come up. Depardieu led the way. When she reached the top she saw Savage and Mbinga each standing near a room. Savage pointed to his room and held up two fingers for Depardieu to see. Mbinga pointed to his room and held up one finger, then lowered his hand to waist level and turned his palm down. Depardieu nodded. Savage had found a couple, Mbinga had found their child.

Depardieu reached into her vest pockets and pulled out three mechanical syringes. She handed one to Savage and one to Mbinga. Mbinga went into the room he was standing next to while Depardieu followed Savage into the other one. There she saw a man and a woman sleeping soundly together in their large bed. The man was sleeping on his left side, so Depardieu had Savage inject him first. Savage crept up to the bed, reached over to the man and stuck the syringe into what would have been the carotid artery in a human. With that done, Depardieu handled the woman. She was sleeping facing her mate, so Depardieu carefully turned her on her back and injected her before she could stir. Both Junoans went slack a second later and Depardieu checked their eyes with a small flashlight to make sure they were completely out. Satisfied, she nodded to Savage. Now the real work could begin.

They removed their packs and removed the bedcovers from the Junoans, then they positioned the Junoans on the bed to give them greater access. Since no one was sure exactly how much medical equipment would be needed, every member of the team carried a portion of it. Savage and Depardieu each drew medical sample cases from their packs, while the corpsman also drew a portable electromagnetic scanner and more syringes. The scanner was about the size of a Phaser and sported collapsible bipods used to hold the scanner in place above the patient's midsection.

Depardieu decided to concentrate on the male Junoan first. She set up the scanner over his waist and activated it. If it was working properly, in a few minutes it would have recorded magnetic resonance, x-ray and 3-D still images of the subject's entire body. As it worked she prepared syringes to collect blood samples for various tests and switched the combat gloves she was wearing for surgical ones. When the scanner's alarm beeped she signaled to Savage. The Lander nodded and went over to the device to remove the device's memory chip. He inserted it in a datapad and held it so that Depardieu could see the display. She studied it for a moment and nodded, then Savage took the pad away, removed the chip and placed it in its proper niche in the outer cover of a sample case as Depardieu moved to the subject's right arm and started drawing blood in several vials. When that was done she handed the vials to Savage to be put in the case, then she moved to the patient's head, turned it to the side and used another device to take a tiny skin sample from the back of his neck. She used Bio-Seal foam to clean and seal the wound. In an hour or so the wound would be virtually invisible to the naked eye. She placed that sample in a vial and used a set of medical shears to take some of the male's hair. When she had that she handed the skin and hair to Savage and moved to the subject's waist. She moved the scanner and took a deep breath, then took down the male's pajama pants. She took out another, larger vial and gave Savage a slightly embarrassed look, then proceeded to use the vial to collect a urine sample, pressing down hard on the part of the male's torso where his bladder was located to make it come out. When she had enough she sealed the vial and handed it to Savage, then gave the Lander a more purposeful look as he put the sample in the case. Savage smiled when he saw her and kept smiling as he made a show of turning the other way. Depardieu sighed, drew two more large vials and flexed the fingers of her free hand as she went back to the subject. She had more samples to collect.

Savage stared idly at a wall as he waited for Depardieu to finish. As his eyes drifted he noticed the farmer's theft-deterrent system leaning against one side of the large bureau nearby. It was a shotgun, all right, but single-barreled. In fact, it looked like an old-fashioned police-issue riot gun. Savage was just wondering what kind of shells it fired when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Depardieu. She handed him the last two vials, which he gingerly placed in their spots in the case. Then he closed and sealed the case, turned on its refrigeration system and labeled it. As he did this Depardieu cleaned and re-dressed the male, then moved the scanner over to the female to start the whole process over with her. Some of the samples could be taken the same way she had taken the male's, others couldn't, but she managed to get all of them in the same amount of time. When she was done the sample cases went back into their original packs and Depardieu and Savage tucked the adults back in. Hopefully, the worst that would happen would be that they would oversleep and feel a little sore in some places, but otherwise remain oblivious to their nocturnal physicals.

Depardieu collected the scanner and moved on to the child's room. She found that Mbinga was ahead of her. He already had a sample case out and had the child - a young boy - uncovered and waiting for her. She set up the scanner and put on a new pair of gloves - as she had done for each parent - and got to work as soon as the scans were done, trying to collect the samples as delicately as possible. The finesse made the process take longer, but not much.

Throughout the series of examinations Depardieu had been putting her medical wastes - gloves, spent syringes, etc. - in a vacuum-seal bag. When she was done with the boy and Mbinga had put away the sample case she sealed the bag and tucked that into a spare pocket in her pack. The bag would go into an incinerator when they returned to the _Enterprise_.

With the exams done, Savage, Depardieu and Mbinga did a final check of the bedrooms. When they were sure they weren't leaving behind anything more foreign than the dust of the fields they left the rooms for good. Togusa and Heinemann were waiting for them in the hall, and Heinemann took the lead as Voyeur Team One vacated the second floor and the house single-file. Savage closed the front door after them, then kept a close watch on Fido as the team double-timed it back into the fields. The animal was still stunned, much to everyone's relief. They kept up their pace all the way back to the Workhorse. Ajami was standing in the cargo bay waiting for them. He hit the intercom to the cockpit when he saw their shapes. "They're on their way," he said, "hit it!"

The engines powered up just seconds before Heinemann's boots hit the loading ramp. He was the first in, Savage was the last, and Savage's boots barely cleared the ramp before Ajami hit the button to close it. Ochoa lifted off as soon as he got an indicator that the door was closing, and the others scrambled to resume their seats before he pushed the ship to escape velocity.

The team took off their helmets as they settled in. "Thank God," Depardieu said with a heavy sigh, "I can _breathe_ again!"

Savage patted her on the shoulder. "That was some outstanding work, Doc!" He said. "You were on a roll! If you ask me, I think we should've stayed and got some of Fido while we were at it!"

Togusa shook his head. "Not on the list," he said, "and I don't think the big brains want us to improvise on this one."

Savage snorted. "This whole damn cruise is one big mess of improvisation! What's a little more?"

"I suppose the scientists think they can get enough animal samples with the other surveys," Mbinga said, "so they want us to stick to our target list."

"Besides," Heinemann said, "would you really have wanted to be around if Fido decided to wake up in the middle of giving a urine sample?"

Depardieu chuckled mirthlessly. "Don't even joke! I'm just glad none of the _Junoans_ woke up in the middle of that!"

"Well, they didn't," Togusa said, "and the rest of the mission went as advertised, which means we all did our jobs right. That's the important thing. Good work, people."

"Boo-yah, Staff Sergeant," Savage said. The others nodded their thanks, then sat back and enjoyed their ride back home.

* * *

Montoya turned the conn over to the Midwatch helm officer as soon as Hauler Three called "Feet Cold" and began its approach. She wanted to go down to the Flight Bay and meet Voyeur One herself. She was anxious to find out how the mission went and quietly cursed the requisite radio silence that forced her to wait until they came back. She paced around the Hangar Deck during the intervening minutes until Hauler Three landed, then looked expectantly at the airlock doors until they opened to admit the landing team. Depardieu was leading the way, and she, Savage and Mbinga were each carrying a medical sample case.

"Welcome back." Montoya said to them as they approached. "I assume those cases mean the mission was successful?"

"Yes, Sir," Togusa said, speaking for his team, "we acquired everything on our target list."

Depardieu spoke up then, grinning. "Commander, allow me to present to you" - each appropriate case was held up in turn - "Mr. Farmer, Mrs. Farmer and Farmer, Junior, all in their own nifty carrying cases."

Montoya grinned as well. "That's wonderful! Well done, all of you. You should get up to the decontamination chambers. Someone will be waiting there to take the samples."

"Aye aye, Sir." Togusa said, and he led his team off to the turbolifts. Montoya was still smiling as they passed her, inwardly glad that Wendy Flores's fears had gone unrealized…so far. It had only been the first attempt, after all. A successful one, to be sure, but there would be plenty of chances for a catastrophe.

_Three down_, she thought, _so many more to go._


	4. Segment Three

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. and CBS-Paramount Television. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE EQUATORIAL**

**By Darrin A. Colbourne**

* * *

The Multipurpose Research Laboratory in the Support Section was the one place aboard _Enterprise_ where Lieutenant Flores truly felt at home. It was evident to anyone who saw her. She'd been spending as much of her on-duty time as possible there, taking on the task of studying and analyzing the samples taken from the Junoans herself. It was detailed, tedious work, but work she threw herself into with great satisfaction. 

Montoya found that this was the best time to talk to her friend. She'd visited Flores here several times over the past few days and always found the exobiologist either staring at a sample through a holo-microscope or preparing a sample to be looked at. This time it was the former. Montoya just watched Flores for a bit after walking into the lab. The woman looked oblivious to everything else in the space, including the research technicians assisting her.

Looks could be deceiving. "Couldja stop staring?" Flores said without looking up. "You're creeping me out."

Montoya smiled and came closer. "I just didn't want to disturb you. You looked like you were discovering a whole new universe in there."

"Nope, not a _new_ universe, but I think I'm on to a better understanding of this one."

"Elaborate. You can't say something like that and just leave it."

Flores pulled away from the viewer, then leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed. "You know what I see in all these samples I've been looking at?" She opened her eyes and turned to Montoya. "I see _us_. The Junoans are us, Belle…at least, biologically, they're closer to Human Beings than any race we're currently familiar with. It's like whatever set Earth up to produce us set Juno Prime up to produce something similar…or maybe it's the other way around. Whatever…the point is that the Junoans are a sister race to Humans. They're…well…"

Montoya found the words. "They're the reason we're out here?"

Flores smiled. "They are. We're sitting on a gold mine of information in terms of the Project." She turned back to the microscope. "I just wish there was a better way to collect it."

"We've been doing all right so far…"

"What we've been doing is conducting commando raids on family for a relatively tiny payoff."

"Wendy, we've been through this."

"I know, I know…we can't talk to them so we might as well just invade."

"Would you prefer to wait here another four or five years until we can talk to them?"

Flores turned to Montoya. "Well, why not? We're going to be out here five years anyway! Why not spend them someplace that may give us all the information we need?"

"Suppose we _can't_ get all the information we need here? What if there's an even bigger gold mine out there that we'd miss because we're sitting in orbit here hoping we'll find some kind of Rosetta Stone?"

"That's a flimsy argument and you know it."

"Flimsy it may be, but it's the argument that best reflects reality. We're _not_ spending the entire mission in one spot. We'd all go insane."

"You mean the Starfleeters would go insane if they didn't have anything to shoot at or blow up."

"All right, yes, that's exactly what I mean, and since we rely on the Starfleeters for our transportation, our room and board and our safety I'd rather not go out of my way to drive them all _stir crazy!_"

Flores looked at Montoya as if the Science Officer had already gone insane. "What _is_ it with you lately?"

"What is it with _me_? Do you have any idea what you've been sounding like recently?"

"Yes, _you_ when we first met, which is why I wonder what's happened to you since we've been out here. I shouldn't have to tell you how dangerous impatience and recklessness can be to proper scientific study…"

"You don't have to tell me that, but you also don't have to balance that knowledge with the responsibilities that come with being a senior officer on this ship."

"You shouldn't be trying to 'balance' anything. You should be figuring out what your priorities are…"

Montoya snorted. "You think it's that simple? Well, fine. I quit. You can be Science Officer from now on and show me how it should be done."

"Belle, I didn't mean…"

Montoya began to pace. "No, no, I think it would be a great learning experience for both of us. You see, you could show me how to prioritize, and at the same time you could find out what it's like to have to spend most of your time trying to find a way to get two sets of people with almost diametrically opposed outlooks on life working together to help you do your job. You'd also get to experience the joy of having your superiors _and_ your subordinates second-guessing every move you make. And then, to top it all off, you get to spend every single day faced with one nagging, aggravating little reality. You know what that reality is? It's that no matter how frustrating your job gets, no matter how much you ache to tear everything apart and start fresh in a manner more to your liking, you can't" - she stopped pacing and leaned right into Flores's face - "because _it's not your ship_, which means that everyone and everything you use to achieve your goals are simply made available to you at someone else's whim, and everything you achieve can be completely undone the same way! You want to know what it is with me, Wendy? _That's_ what it is!"

She pulled away from Flores and headed for the door. The lab was quiet enough for everyone to hear the soft _shhh_ of its opening, and Montoya was halfway through the doorway before Flores broke the silence. "I'm sorry!" Montoya stopped without turning. When she didn't respond right away, Flores spoke again. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Montoya thought for a moment before turning her head to respond. "We'll start sending recordings of Junoan broadcasts back to Earth along with Jim's research so far. With more people working on it there we might be able to break the language barrier sooner, but for now you'll just have to be satisfied with what information you can get through our commando raids."

There was a short pause, then Flores said softly, "Aye, Sir."

The tension between them dropped away almost immediately with that. It made Montoya smile before she left the lab for good. Flores watched the door close behind her, then sighed and turned back to the microscope, trying to lose herself in her work.

* * *

The Voyeur teams had been operating for four nights with a success rate no one had expected and the team members were almost afraid to brag about. Everyone involved was fully cognizant of the old axiom "No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy." It was the military version of Murphy's Law: Whatever can go wrong, will. The fact that nothing had gone wrong to this point was satisfying, but it was a situation that couldn't last forever, and in the backs of their minds the team members were all dreading the eventual foul-up. 

Still, the worry didn't stop Team One from deploying on their latest mission with a visible confidence. Even Corpsman Depardieu's earlier misgivings had been allayed by experience. She was learning to gather the samples more efficiently each time she did it, and she was enjoying working with her teammates. The Landers, meanwhile, were hooked on being able to demonstrate their ability to reach out and touch their targets without the targets being any the wiser. The target this time was a Junoan woman who lived alone on a small, sparsely-planted farm on one of Juno Prime's Northern continents. There was no watchdog to worry about as there had been with their other targets, so this deployment required different preparations, but everyone expected it to go well. "A quick in-and-out," as Savage had put it, and the Junoan loner would just be one more notch on their respective belts.

* * *

There were, of course, some things Team One couldn't know about their target. One thing was that she was one of her world's most renowned artists, a painter who had become one of the lucky few who had managed to become wealthy from the sale of her work. Her paintings graced the walls of famous galleries, the estates of wealthy collectors and prominent officials and the covers of periodicals with worldwide circulations. Commissioning her to do a flattering portrait was one of the "in" things to do among the world's celebrity set, meaning that she could command staggering prices from people more than willing to pay them. Many of the world's leading intellectuals could be counted among her admirers, and more than once she'd been asked to voice her opinions on subjects such as politics, religion and culture. 

Another thing Team One couldn't know: The artist was sick of all of it. She had come to hate the fame and adulation because they did nothing to help her solve a serious problem. She found herself blocked creatively, so accustomed to doing commissioned works whose details were dictated by others that it had been months since she'd been able to simply paint for the sheer joy of it, create a work that satisfied _her_ and not just a paying customer. It was true that she lived alone, but that was by design. She'd bought the farm and moved there from the city two months before _Enterprise_'s arrival in the hope that the isolation would provide a creative spark. It was something that was hard to explain to others. Everyone from her family to her fans to her neighbors wondered why she hadn't simply taken a vacation in some exotic locale, or bought a mansion in a well-to-do community. She kept having to explain why the little house on the small, nearly barren farm was perfect for her needs…or so she'd thought initially. The fact was the canvas she'd prepared for the resurgence of her creativity was still blank after all that time, and recently she'd begun to despair of ever doing anything truly unique again.

Still, she found she couldn't give up all hope, so while she waited for inspiration to strike she filled her days by working on commissions, getting supplies and conversing with her nearest neighbors, including a stout, friendly woman who'd offered several times since the artist moved in to send her husband and sons around to bring the farm up to a proper state. The offer was always politely declined, but welcome nonetheless. There was something comforting about living near such good plain folk that she appreciated, creative block or not.

The day before Voyeur Team One embarked on the mission to her farm unfolded much as any other day. She put the finishing touches on a painting meant to be used for a magazine cover, went into town to buy grain and paints and gossiped with the stout, friendly neighbor. That evening she spent an hour after dinner drinking a cup of hot tea and staring at the blank canvas, wondering if that night would be the night inspiration struck. When nothing happened she sighed, spent an hour or so talking with her sister via wire communicator and went to bed early with a good book.

* * *

She'd been asleep for hours by the time Ensign Ajami radioed "One minute, on final," to the team in Hauler Three's cargo bay. The re-entry and transit to the farm had been textbook so far, with little or no evasive maneuvering required in the flight plan. Lt. Ochoa welcomed it. It meant a shorter transit time back and forth, which translated to less time strapped into the pilot seat. He picked a barren field in the Northern part of the farm to land in, touched the ship down lightly and opened the loading hatch with a contact on his control panel. 

Savage was on the ground first and providing security as Mbinga led the rest of the team off in the direction of the farmhouse. He fell into step behind Depardieu as the team advanced at a quick jog. The general state of the surrounding fields meant that there was little or no cover for them to use to approach the house, so they were counting on speed to help keep them hidden from prying eyes.

They encountered another problem near the objective. Mbinga saw that a light was on through one of the windows of the ranch-style house. He gave the team the "Hold" signal and covered the rest of the distance at a low crouch, Phaser at the ready. When he was close enough he flipped up his low-light goggles and crept up to the wall to one side of the window. He waited a second or two to be sure no one inside saw him, then leaned over and peered in the window. It was the bedroom. The target was resting comfortably, curled up in bed with a book resting on her stomach.

Mbinga drew his Childress after holstering his Phaser. He set the weapon on full-auto, took careful aim and fired. The particle beam burned through the window glass and through the bulb in the lamp by the bed. The light went out with a soft pop. Mbinga waited until he was sure the target hadn't been roused, then keyed his mike twice and proceeded to the house's front door, replacing his goggles as he went. He waited until the rest of the team was in sight before trying the door. He found it locked. Another obstacle, but not an unexpected one. In planning the mission, it had been determined that someone intent on living such an isolated existence would probably be the type to lock her door.

After a few moments of examination Mbinga found the door was locked with a simple deadbolt. He held his Childress high and aimed along the seam of the door by the doorknob. It only took a second for the beam to cut through. Mbinga opened the door, switched weapons again and swept the living room. He gave the all-clear signal and the team entered the way they had done several times before, gathering in the bedroom when they were sure the house was clear.

Depardieu got started right away, with Savage assisting her. She administered the sedative to the subject and gave her eyes a cursory check before getting ready to set up the scanner and start taking samples.

* * *

The isolation had started to affect the artist's dreams. In one she'd had many times since moving to the farm she found herself sitting on an endless grassy plain looking in vain for something she'd lost, although she was never exactly sure what it was she was missing. Some nights she would only be on the plain for a heartbeat, others for a few minutes, but every time she was there alone, with no other soul to be found. 

This time was different. She heard the buzzing of some insect nearby. She looked around to see if she could find it, but it remained invisible to her until it bit her on her neck.

She woke up in the middle of the night gasping for breath! Her lungs hurt from the effort…

* * *

"Whoa!" Savage called out. The subject jerked upright in the bed, eyes bugged out and throat rasping! The sudden movement made all the Landers jump and made Depardieu stare wide-eyed for a split-second before her training took over. 

"Lay her back down!" She called out. Savage and Heinemann moved to comply, forcing the woman back down in the bed. Her arms flailed as they did so and she wheezed painfully with the effort to breathe.

"Hold her down!" Depardieu said as she broke out a med kit.

* * *

She tried to grab her chest, but something was holding her arms down, holding _her_ down! There were people in her room, people in shadow…

* * *

"What's going on?" Togusa yelled. 

"I don't know!" Depardieu said. "I won't know till I examine her!" She approached the bed and tried to do just that, but the woman was thrashing around too much. "Can't you hold her still?"

"We're trying!" Heinemann said.

* * *

They were arguing with each other in some foreign language. She struggled against them, but it was no use! The ones holding her in the bed were too strong…

* * *

Depardieu placed the lead to a radio stethoscope to the subject's chest and put the audio pickup to her own ear. "Her lungs are closed up!" She said a second later. "I can help her to breathe but not if she keeps moving around like this!" 

"We're open to suggestions!" Savage said as he and Heinemann struggled with the patient.

Depardieu pulled away and looked around frantically trying to figure out what to do, then she looked at Mbinga. "Stun her!"

"What??!" Mbinga said.

"Do it!" Togusa said. "Flash only, right now!"

Mbinga checked the setting on his Phaser and then aimed it at the target's eyes…

* * *

One of the shadows barked what seemed like an order. Another pointed a rod at her. There was a flash of light, then nothing…

* * *

Depardieu pushed the Landers away and descended on her patient as soon as she went limp. She listened to the Junoan's chest again. "Heartbeat's erratic!" She put the scope away and checked the woman's throat with a small flashlight. "Her throat's closed up as well!" She went back to the med kit and broke out a small rebreather with medical tubing attached. She went back to the woman. "Hold her mouth open." She said to Savage. The Lander complied and Depardieu guided the free end of the tube down the Junoan's throat as quickly and gently as she could manage. When it was in as far as she could get it she started the rebreather. A moment later the object was breathing for the woman, forcing fresh oxygen into her lungs and extracting carbon dioxide. Depardieu listened to her chest again. Her heartbeat began to steady and slow down, and her lungs were expanding and contracting in time with the rebreather's operation. 

Depardieu turned to Togusa. "This is a temporary fix at best. We need to get her back to the ship."

"No way," Togusa said. "You know the rules as well as I do."

"She can't breathe on her own! If we leave her here like this she'll die!"

"We're carrying half of Sick Bay on our backs. Can't you do something for her here?"

"No, because I need things in the half of Sick Bay we're _not_ carrying to help her start breathing on her own and find out what closed up her throat and lungs in the first place!"

"We can't take her, Doc."

"We can't _leave_ her, Staff Sergeant!"

Togusa and Depardieu stared each other down for several seconds. None of the other Landers would have laid odds either way on who'd win the standoff, but they were all secretly glad when Togusa turned away and keyed his mike. "Voyeur One to Voyeur Six."

* * *

"Commander," The Communicator said, "Voyeur One is calling Voyeur Six." 

Montoya felt her heart leap into her throat. "Voyeur Six" was what the Voyeur teams knew her as, the officer in overall charge of the sample recovery mission. She hadn't expected to hear them use the term, however, since they were only to call the ship if something went horribly wrong on the mission and so far there hadn't been any problems. Complacency truly was a bitch. She touched a contact on the center chair's control panel. "This is Voyeur Six. Go ahead."

Togusa's voice sounded over the PA in Control. "Request permission to medevac target to Prize ASAP, over."

Medevac? "Say again, Voyeur One?"

"Request permission to immediately evac target to Prize for medical evaluation and treatment, Six, over."

Was he crazy? Her response was automatic. "Negative, Voyeur One! Do not remove target from her environment, over!"

* * *

"She said 'No.'" Togusa said to Depardieu. 

The corpsman glared at him. "Make her understand!"

"It's her call, Doc!"

"She's not here and we don't have time to follow the rules of engagement! Make her understand!" She turned away and went back to check her patient's vitals.

* * *

"Be advised, Six," Togusa's voice said, "target _will_ expire without further medical attention, over." 

Montoya's eyes went wide. _What the hell is going on down there?_ "Say again, Voyeur One? The target will expire?"

"That's affirmative, Six. We need to get her to Sick Bay ASAP."

Montoya stood and began to pace. There were a million reasons why they shouldn't bring the Junoan aboard, all of which had been spelled out in the Voyeur Teams' initial briefings. It was the one thing they absolutely couldn't do. That thought kept going through her mind. It could be dangerous for the Junoan and the _Enterprise_'s crew. She knew that and, presumably, Togusa knew it as well. So what was going on? Had they come across a sick woman when they invaded her bedroom, or…

"Do you copy, Six?" Togusa said.

"Roger, Voyeur One," Montoya said abruptly, "copy your last transmission. Stand by." She wanted time to think…no, she _needed_ time to think. What she _wanted_ was for Togusa to spell out exactly what was happening down there, but that entailed its own risks. Every moment they spent on the radio increased the risk of detection by the Junoans. They might not be able to decipher the transmissions, or even recognize what they were hearing as communication between spacecraft and surface, but the radio waves themselves were detectable and traceable, so the rules of engagement said keep all transmissions short and sweet. If the story Togusa had to tell was a complex one…she had to wait until the team returned to the ship, that much was certain. The problem was that it meant she had to make a decision about the Junoan before they could leave, and she didn't want to make that decision blind.

_The target _will_ expire. _Did that mean she was dying when they got there, or did it mean something they did while they were there had put her in danger? If it were the latter, Montoya had no right to deny her help. "Voyeur Six to Voyeur One: permission granted. I'm releasing Hauler Three to operate at your discretion." She signaled to the Communicator, who nodded and relayed her orders to Hauler Three. "Do what you have to do. Voyeur Six, out." When the channel was cut, she said to the Communicator, "Have Sick Bay prepare for casualties and send a medical team to the Flight Bay. Contact Doctor Boyce and alert him to what's going on…and call Captain Pike to Control."

* * *

Hauler Three was already on his way when Togusa contacted the transport and called for a medevac. The Staff Sergeant sent Mbinga and Savage out to wait and collect a stretcher from the cargo bay as soon as Ochoa landed in front of the farmhouse. When they left he turned to Depardieu. "How is she?" 

The corpsman was setting up the portable scanner. "Her vital signs are weak, but stable. Her lungs still sound blocked. This will tell us for sure what we're dealing with."

"You can do that in the transport. It's gonna be here any second. Right now we need to get her ready to move." At that moment they heard the sharp whine of the Workhorse's sublight engines. "There we go. Freddy, get out there and make sure the noise didn't attract any witnesses."

Heinemann drew his Phaser and left the room. Depardieu broke down the scanner and set it aside, then she and Togusa removed the bedcovers from the Junoan and positioned her to slide onto the stretcher. Mbinga and Savage arrived with the stretcher seconds later and held it as Togusa and Depardieu carefully slid the woman on and secured her. They departed at a run soon after, with Depardieu running along side. Togusa lagged behind to police the bedroom. He grabbed the scanner from where Depardieu had left it, then followed his team out.

Savage and Mbinga got into the transport first and secured the stretcher in a special recess along one of the bulkheads in the cargo area. They also pulled out a folding gee-couch for Depardieu to strap into so she could monitor the patient on the way back. The stretcher and Depardieu were settled in by the time Togusa and Heinemann stepped aboard. The Landers made their way to the passenger area as the loading ramp closed. Seconds later, Hauler Three was streaking into the sky.

* * *

"What's going on?" Pike said as soon as he entered the control room. 

Montoya turned to him. "We've had a problem with the Voyeur team. There was a medical emergency."

"One of the Landers?"

"No, the target."

Pike's eyebrow went up. "What's the nature of the emergency?"

"I don't know for sure. All I was told was that she'd die without medical attention."

"There's a corpsman on the team, isn't there?"

"Sergeant Togusa said she needed to be brought to Sick Bay. I can only assume that means that Corpsman Depardieu tried to help, but couldn't, so they're bringing her aboard."

"Wait…they're bringing a Junoan _here_? They're not supposed to take any of the natives off the planet."

"I know that…"

He crossed his arms and glared at her. "You were the one who said we shouldn't take the natives off the planet! You were adamant about it!"

"Sir, I had to let them bring her! As I said, I have no idea what happened, but if that woman's life is in jeopardy because of something we did, we owe it to her to do everything we can for her."

Pike just stared at her for a moment, then said, "All right, what are we doing up here?"

"I've had a medical team sent to the Flight Bay to assist with the patient and I've alerted Doctor Boyce and Sick Bay."

"Is Lieutenant Flores still aboard?"

"Yes, Sir. She's not scheduled to land again until tomorrow night."

"Well, get her up, too. She's the closest thing we've got to an expert on these people."

"Yes, Sir."

"After that, you're relieved."

"Relieved, Sir?"

"We're going to be taking that transport aboard in almost no time at all. When the Landers disembark you need to be there to find out from the team leader what the hell went on down there, right?"

Montoya nodded. "Right."

"I'll take over up here. Get going."

"Yes, Sir." She hesitated only long enough to have the Communicator have Flores report to Sick Bay, then left Control at a jog.

* * *

There were two more corpsmen waiting by the airlock doors with an anti-grav stretcher when Montoya arrived. She waited with them until Hauler Three landed. All too soon the airlock doors opened. The corpsmen went through as soon as they had enough room. They were on their way back by the time the doors were fully open. Depardieu was giving them the particulars of the case as they made their way to the lift. "…extra-terran female, looks like she's in her late thirties, heart-rate and blood pressure are weak and she's in respiratory distress, possibly anaphylaxis." 

Montoya followed them with her eyes. The Junoan was strapped to a smaller stretcher and that stretcher was resting on the anti-grav one. The woman was fair-skinned and blond and wearing a simple nightgown. She looked pale and weak, and there was a medical device in her mouth breathing for her. Montoya watched until the corpsmen boarded the cargo turbolift with their charge, then turned away as Togusa and the others walked into the hangar. She stood in Togusa's path. "What happened down there?"

Her tone was confrontational, but Togusa suppressed his emotions before he responded. "We ran into a snag. The mission was going fine up until Depardieu administered the sedative. Instead of falling into a deeper sleep the target woke up unable to breathe. Depardieu administered first aid on scene, but advised me that she would need better medical care than we could provide and recommended we bring her here. I concurred and called you."

Montoya forced herself to calm down and continued. "Did any of you do anything else to her besides administer the sedative?"

Togusa didn't like the implication, but answered honestly in an even tone. "We also stunned her."

"_Stunned_ her? Are you insane? Why…?"

"It was Depardieu's idea. The target wouldn't stay still long enough for us to help her."

"She woke up to a room filled with armed men, Sergeant! How still would you be?!"

"In any case, stunning her allowed us to do what we could for her before bringing her here."

Montoya calmed herself down again. "Do you think the sedative had anything to do with what's happening to her?"

"Depardieu thinks so. Again, I'm inclined to agree."

Montoya felt herself go numb. She began to pace, thinking about the implications of what she'd been told. She stopped just long enough to tell Togusa, "Get to Decontamination."

"Aye Sir," he said, then he led his men to the lifts. He glanced back at Montoya just before he boarded. She looked lost in thought, and whatever was going through her mind didn't look pleasant. He just hoped that whatever it was wouldn't mean anything dire for his team. They had done their jobs, plain and simple, and run into a snag. He decided then and there to stand by them, no matter what the Science Officer decided to do.


	5. Sgement Four

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. and CBS-Paramount Television. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE EQUATORIAL**

**By Darrin A. Colbourne**

* * *

It took some time for Montoya to calm herself down enough to leave the Flight Bay. She took a lift to the Life Support Deck and went straight to the Decontamination Section. It was as busy in there as a maglev station back on Earth. Doctor Boyce had apparently turned out his whole department and was orchestrating the entire scene. Voyeur Team One was in the ward on the right being checked out by Boyce's deputy and two corpsmen. Boyce and the bulk of the Medical Department were in the ward on the left. Though she couldn't see from the door, Montoya assumed that's where they were working on the Junoan. All the medical personnel were wearing surgical scrubs and were in skullcaps and masks, and the sight made Montoya a little hesitant to cross the threshold. Her instinct proved correct when Doctor Fishburn left the Landers and spotted her in the doorway as he transferred to the other ward. "Give us a few minutes, Commander!" He said to her. She backed off immediately and let the door close in her face, then couldn't think of anything else to do but stare at the door while she waited for some kind of word. As she stood there three more people in scrubs rushed into the section. She could tell one of them was Flores, but her friend didn't stop to say anything before going in.

When nothing else happened after a minute or two Montoya retreated to the bulkhead opposite the door and leaned against it, then tried her best to relax as she waited, then simply forced herself not to pace when she realized relaxing would be impossible. _If that woman dies, it's my fault_, she thought. She couldn't blame the Landers, or Flores or Song or her job or anything else. Wasn't that the point of all of Number One's lectures on the responsibilities of command? The Landers had gone down to the planet on her initiative and operated under her direction, so if they killed the Junoan through some misstep, it really meant that _she_ killed the Junoan, didn't it? How could she make amends for that? Where could she go on Juno Prime to confess to what she'd done and accept punishment for her crime? Even if the woman lived, the physical and emotional trauma she'd suffered would weigh heavily on Montoya's mind.

Some time later the door slid open and Boyce stepped out. His mask was off and hanging from his neck by its lower straps and he looked haggard. "You can come in now, Isabel," he said, then he turned back inside.

Montoya hurried to follow him and got right to the point. "Will she live?"

Boyce smiled. "Looks that way."

"Do you know what was wrong with her?"

"She had an allergic reaction."

"Please tell me it wasn't caused by the sedative!"

The Doctor smirked. "I could tell you that…but I'd be lying." They stopped in front of the Junoan's decon chamber. Fishburn, Flores and two corpsmen were in the space with her, while the rest of the medical staff was preparing to return some portable equipment to Sick Bay.

Montoya looked inside. The alien appeared to be resting comfortably, but most of her face was obscured by devices to help her breathe. Flores was comparing the readings from the medical scanners nearby with something on a datapad. When she was done she conferred with Fishburn.

"Gwendolyn's trying to isolate the ingredients in the sedative that caused the reaction." Boyce said.

Montoya shook her head. "How is it even possible? How could she be allergic to the sedative?"

Boyce shrugged. "It's not that hard to believe. The chemical compounds in the drug just have to match something her body would reject. That's what Gwendolyn's trying to figure out. The sedative may have some things in common with the Junoan versions of wheat or peanut butter, or maybe the venom of a native insect."

Montoya chuckled mirthlessly. "Great. We gave her concentrated bee sting. Why didn't any of the others have a similar reaction?"

"Not every human is allergic to bee stings. It was just our bad luck to come across a Junoan with this particular allergy."

"It wasn't _our_ bad luck, Doctor."

Boyce thought about it for a moment. "I suppose you're right."

As Montoya watched, the patient started to stir. She turned her head toward the window and her eyes fluttered open. It looked as if she had spotted Montoya, but she only had enough time for a glimpse before Flores noticed her. She gently turned the woman's head toward her and said softly, "Hey, it's okay. You're going to be fine." Then she kept looking at the woman as she said to Fishburn, "I think we're going to have to up her anesthetic."

Fishburn nodded and signaled to one of the corpsmen. As she moved to the appropriate medical unit to increase the dosage and Flores released her hold, the Junoan's head rolled back toward the window. This time her eyes met Montoya's.

"So far," Boyce said, "she's not having any adverse reaction to the anesthetic we're using now, nor is she reacting badly to the anti-inflammatories we've started her on." By the time he'd finished saying that the patient's eyes had closed again. "We're going to keep her under while we have her here, and we'll keep her in isolation to guard against infection, for her sake and ours."

"How long will you keep her?"

"She's not going anywhere until we're sure she's out of distress. If the meds continue to work as well as they have been she should be out of the woods by the end of the watch. After that, a few hours for observation to make sure there's no recurrence of the symptoms."

"Then we have to find some way to get her back home. I'm not sure I can trust the Landers to do it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Do you know they stunned her?"

"Of course. Corpsman Depardieu told me."

She turned to him. "Don't tell me you think it's a good thing."

"It might have saved our new friend's life, Isabel. By stunning her they put her brain into stasis before the lack of oxygen could do any real damage. It also calmed her enough so that her lungs could begin to repair themselves. The swelling was beginning to go down when she got here. All we had to do was find a way to speed up the process."

Montoya stared at him for a beat, then turned to the other decontamination chamber. The members of Team One were all inside, their attention fixed on the opposite room. Depardieu especially looked worried. Her chin was resting on her interlaced fingers and she seemed as if she were trying to will the patient back to health.

"We're keeping them apprised of the Junoan's condition." Boyce said. "They're as concerned for her as anyone. Believe me, when the time comes to take her home you'll have a fight on your hands if you try to keep them from doing the job themselves."

Montoya glanced at Boyce, then turned back to the landing team. She locked eyes with Togusa for a moment, and gathered from the look she saw in them that she hadn't made much of an impression as a commander during a crisis. She had to admit to herself that the Doctor was probably right, and the last thing she needed was another fight. "Will you keep me apprised as well, Doctor?"

"Absolutely," he said. Montoya was already headed for the door.

* * *

"My Ready Room." Pike said to her when she returned to Control. He turned the conn over to the helmsman and then led the way. When the door was shut behind them Pike sat down on the cot and Montoya leaned against the opposite wall. "Okay," he said, "let's have it."

Montoya reported on the Junoan's condition and recounted Togusa's report on the mission. "It seems like such a minor thing now that she's getting better," she said, "but I can't dismiss it as such. We almost killed someone tonight."

"'Almost' being the operative word." Pike said. "There was a problem, our people on the scene caught it and rectified the situation. You said yourself that the woman is going to live. Nobody's done anything that they need to answer for."

"No one except me. I sent them on that mission. If I hadn't…"

Pike stopped her with a raised hand. "Some free advice: Let that be the last time you second-guess yourself. You decided on a course of action that you felt was necessary to accomplish the mission. That's all. There's no way you can predict every possible SNAFU associated with your decision, so don't beat yourself up over something you have no control over."

"What if events show that the decision never should have been made in the first place?"

Pike shrugged. "A commander's allowed to be wrong, within reason. What you don't have is the luxury of being indecisive. You just have to stick to the decision once you've made it and prepare for the consequences, whatever they are. Besides, I don't see any evidence that a wrong decision was made here."

"Then I guess that's the difference between us, Sir, because as far as I'm concerned I just came from _visiting_ the evidence. She's in Decontamination Bay One hooked up to a respirator because of something _we_ did. _That's_ what my decision led to."

There was a long, tense moment as they both let that statement sink in, then Pike leaned back and crossed his arms. "So what does that mean for the rest of our survey of the Junoans?"

"We're going to leave them alone. Team One will take the Junoan back to the planet when she's well enough to go, then we'll disband the Voyeur Teams and suspend the mission. We _can't_ do something like that to someone else. These are sentient beings we're dealing with, Captain. They're _us_. They deserve our respect." _And you can yell at me for saying it, _she thought, _or relieve me or send me back home. I don't care._

None of those things crossed Pike's mind. Instead he sighed and thought _Well, you just told her to be decisive_, then said, "Okay, then what about the survey of the planet in general?"

Montoya blinked. She had been gearing herself up to defend her previous answer and was taken aback when she realized she didn't have to. When she recovered, she said, "That can continue, but I want us to redouble our efforts to avoid contact with the Junoans."

Pike's mouth twisted up. "It may be too late for that. Come on." With that he stood and led the way back into Control, announcing, "Captain has the conn." He drew Montoya's attention to the Sensor station repeater. The monitor was focused on low-light optical footage of a vehicle driving along a dirt road.

"It looks like a pick-up truck." Montoya said.

"It is a pick-up truck," Pike said, "from one of the farms near your target's. That's where it's headed right now."

She knew the answer, but couldn't help asking. "You don't suppose it's just some huge coincidences?"

"No, I think it's safe to say our cover is officially blown."

"The whole mission was planned out so carefully…"

"And it's probably not the first one to be screwed up by a nosy neighbor looking out his window at the wrong time."

"But what could they have seen? The nearest neighbor is miles away!"

"Right, but not far enough away to miss the glow of a Workhorse's sub-light exhaust as it accelerates away from the area in an emergency."

"But the ship would be going so fast it would look like…like…"

"Lightning striking up."

Montoya turned to him. "_All_ lightning strikes up first. What we see of it is the return from the atmosphere."

"Exactly my point. Most people recognize lightning as a bolt of electricity arcing down out of the sky, so it stands to reason that someone might find it odd to be looking out his window one night and see a bolt of lightning arcing up from the middle of his neighbor's land."

"Odd enough to get in a truck and investigate himself?"

"He might try calling first. Of course, there's no one there to answer the phone right now."

Montoya closed her eyes and lowered her head in exasperation. _Could this night get any worse?_

Pike put a hand on her shoulder. "Finish your watch. Maintain surveillance on the truck and the farms as long as you have clear skies over the area and have Tyler do the same when he comes on at 0400. I don't know exactly how the landing team left the farmhouse but I'm pretty sure that when the occupants of the truck get there they won't like what they see. That means there'll be more visitors, most likely police. We'll have to wait until things settle down before we can send our guest back."

"Yes, Sir," she said.

Pike smiled and turned to go. He was halfway to the portside passage when he stopped and turned back. "I think I should go see…" He looked as if he were searching for a word. "We might have to give her a name while she's here."

Montoya smiled. "I'm reasonably sure she already has a name. Hopefully we won't have to keep her long enough to make finding it out necessary."

Pike agreed with a nod. "Anyway, I think I'll check in on her before I go back to my quarters."

"I think that's a good idea."

With that Pike turned again and left Control. Montoya resumed the center seat and announced, "I have the conn. Sensors, put the optical take up on the main viewer." The Sensor officer acknowledged and switched the view on the screen from Juno Prime to the truck. Montoya settled into the chair and prepared for a long night of reconnaissance.

* * *

Pike called a meeting of the Department Heads in the Wardroom at 0900 later that morning to brief everyone on what had been observed during Midwatch and Dawn Watch. Staff Sergeant Togusa was in attendance as well, wearing Work Colors and standing At Ease by the door. Pike used the Wardroom monitor to display the recorded optical footage. "The bad news starts when the truck reaches the farmhouse. You can see two people getting out of the vehicle here."

"Looks like an adult and an adolescent." McDonald said. "Father and son perhaps?"

"And it looks like Dad brought his shotgun." Adams said.

Pike nodded. "He did indeed. You can see him bringing it to bear as he goes to check the door…there. When he sees it's unlocked he comes back, has the kid stay and guard the truck, then goes in ready for trouble. He won't be in there long…there! He comes back out on the run, shouts something at the kid, then the kid jumps back in the truck and takes off." Pike paused the image, then all the officers turned to SSGT Togusa.

"You want to tell us what that man might have seen, Staff Sergeant?" Song asked.

Togusa spoke right up. "Sir, under the circumstances we didn't have time to properly police the scene."

"Fair enough. I just want to know what's going on in that man's head right now."

"Aye, Sir. Private Mbinga was on point when we approached the farmhouse. He spotted a light on in one of the windows, approached on his own and found the target in her bedroom. He disabled the light using his particle weapon, then went to the front of the house and used the weapon to gain entry."

"It doesn't look like Farmer Brown brought a flashlight with him," Adams said, "and you can't tell from this angle if he turned on any lights in the back of the house, but he didn't turn on any in the front. There couldn't be enough ambient light for him to spot evidence of the particle weapon being used. So maybe…he scopes the place out in the dark, gets to the bedroom, gets a look at the bed, probably tries to turn on the light to get a better look…if he's already spooked by the unlocked door and the empty bed I don't think he's going to spend any time wondering if he needs to change a light bulb."

"Nope," Pike said, "he just waits outside while the kid gets the authorities. They show up about 45 minutes later." He advanced the recording until another vehicle appeared. Two men in uniforms emerged from it. "Now _they_ brought flashlights. They take some time to talk to Farmer Brown, usher him aside and go in, and then…" He sighed and advanced the recording again. "…and then it's all downhill from there. Within the next couple of hours the place is crawling with whatever the Junoans call their state police and the farmhouse and surroundings become a crime scene. And as if that weren't bad enough…"

"It gets _worse_?" Silas said.

"It _always_ gets worse." Montoya sighed.

"In this case," Pike said, "'worse' means the military shows up." He slowed the recording to normal. Now vehicles similar to jeeps and covered two-and-a-half ton trucks could be seen arriving. "Somebody must have called an all-hands alert at a nearby barracks and sent them to secure the area. We also caught launches of some alert aircraft from the nearest air base. From the numbers and types we expect them to take up patrol stations over the area. Tyler's watching them now, so I'll get a full report when I take over in Control."

Silas leaned back and crossed her arms. "Well, obviously we're more thoroughly compromised than we initially thought."

"Indeed we are." McDonald said, matching her pose. "Are you sure you did everything you could to minimize the possibility of the transports being spotted?"

"Well, _minimize_ is the key word here, Number One. There's only so much I can do with ships that aren't equipped with dedicated cloaking technology. I couldn't guarantee that nobody would see them without turning them invisible."

"What I wouldn't give to have one of the Special Operations transports the demolition teams use." Song said.

"I'll see about requisitioning some," Pike said, "but I don't think that's the problem. It's possible a few of the landings were seen, but sightings like that are easily dismissed, and given their level of technological advance it's doubtful that they'd be able to coordinate and analyze the data quickly enough to prompt a reaction like this. There's got to be more to it. I think it has something to do with our guest…what did you call her last night, Doc?"

"Anne." Boyce said. When everyone looked at him he shrugged. "We've got to call her something. She looks like an 'Anne' to me."

"Right. Well, I'm betting that this reaction has as much to do with Anne as it does with any of our ships being spotted. Major, when you chose her as a target for the landing did anything stand out about her?"

"Only that she lived alone on a large tract of land, Sir," Song said, "and that was what we were looking for."

"What about you, Staff Sergeant? When you were down there did you notice anything that would mark her as a VIP?"

"No, Sir." Togusa said. "We expected the job to be a quick in and out, and when it turned out not to be our main concern was…Anne. We didn't have time to notice much."

"No, I don't suppose you did. Still, if I'm right, she rates this kind of response because she means more to the Junoans than we suspect."

"How do we confirm that?" McDonald said.

"First, we amp up our signals intelligence. We monitor the television broadcasts from local stations and look for news of her disappearance. If she is a local VIP it shouldn't take long for the press to get wind of it."

"Excuse me, Captain," Silas said. "Knowing why she's important is all well and good, but isn't the bigger question how we get her back home? I mean, we might be able to spoof the aircraft out of the area, but nothing we use on them will work on the troops. There's about a company of soldiers on the farm now. Any team we land would have to plow through them just to get Anne back in her bed."

"I had planned on waiting until the soldiers cleared out, Commander."

"Let's hope that doesn't take too long." Boyce said. "There's a practical limit to how long I can keep her under sedation and fed intravenously."

"I'm open to suggestions, Doctor, but right now I don't see that we have any choice in the matter."

There was a minute of silence in the Wardroom as everyone thought about the problem. Everyone's gaze was fixed on the screen. Finally, Song broke the silence. "So…we can't take her home quickly without taking out a bunch of the locals. Fine. We just won't take her home."

Silas looked at him as if he were insane. "What? You want to just keep her, like a pet?"

Montoya answered before Song could. "That's not what he means." Her eyes were fixed on the monitor as she explained.

* * *

Another day and night passed on the planet. The following morning found the artist's stout neighbor, Mrs. Bero, trying to function properly on only a few hours of sleep. She'd spent most of the night worrying, as she had the previous night, and over the same thing: her neighbor and friend. Mrs. Bero had taken an instant liking to the city girl when they first met. She had met other famous people before, but none had been as personable as the artist, who refused to put on airs with her neighbors. There was also a practical reason for the concern. The farm the artist had moved into had something of a reputation. No one liked to use the word "cursed", but the family that originally owned it had never been able to make a real success of it and three successive owners had experienced similar misfortune. The artist always insisted that she had no intention of doing any farming herself, but Mrs. Bero had been troubled by the possibility that her intentions were no shield against the farm's bad luck.

These were the things on Mrs. Bero's mind the previous night during a bout of insomnia. They'd made her walk into the living room of her house where she could look out of the small window in the direction of the artist's farm. She'd reached the window just in time to see what looked like a shooting star low on the horizon. It was so low it appeared to be landing. She'd thought nothing of it at first, certain it was a trick of the eye. That certainty melted away when she saw the lightning: blue-white lightning on a clear night striking _up_ from her friend's land.

She'd tried to contact the artist by wire to see if she were all right. Her heart almost stopped when she didn't get a response. The next thing she'd thought to do was get Mr. Bero up. Of course he'd balked when she demanded he go check, but she persevered, wearing him down until he roused their eldest son, Jarik, grabbed his trusty rifle and marched off to do her bidding, muttering all the way about missing sleep and crazy wives. Mrs. Bero had taken it in stride. If he went all the way there and found nothing was wrong, fine. She'd apologize to the Mister and Jarik with a fine breakfast in the morning and to the artist with a homemade pie.

Apologies had turned out to be unnecessary. Later that night Jarik had driven up to the house in the truck and burst into the house. He went straight to the wire and called the regional constabulary. Mrs. Bero heard the boy's part of the conversation. Her men had found the artist's house broken into and her bed empty. Mr. Bero had returned home later still in the company of two constables. When the officers left Bero had told his wife and son he'd overheard the investigators that had gone to the farm talking about bringing in the military. Mrs. Bero had sent the men back to bed then, but couldn't sleep herself, so she continued to watch the other farm out of the small window. It was too far away to see if soldiers had gone to the farm, but early in the morning Air Defense Service planes began to patrol the area. Mrs. Bero could see them and hear them as they crisscrossed the air above the region. They stayed the whole day, their piston engines droning by as the Beros went about their usual daily tasks. They didn't recede until late last night. That was when Mrs. Bero finally got to sleep. The planes were back in the morning as she woke up to prepare breakfast.

Mrs. Bero sighed and tried to put the events of the past nights out of her mind. Mr. Bero and all her sons were already up and getting ready for the day and soon they would all storm into the kitchen looking for food. She was just about to crack open some eggs when she heard someone shouting.

"Ma! Pa! Come to the barn, quick!" It was Jarik. He'd gone to the barn to get feed for the livestock. Mrs. Bero raced out of the house as Jarik ran out of the barn still calling for his parents. Mr. Bero intercepted him halfway to the house, stopped him and made him explain himself. When Jarik was done both men ran back to the barn, leaving Mrs. Bero to catch up. She was out of breath by the time she reached the barn and stood in the doorway to catch it. As she stood she saw Mr. Bero and Jarik standing near a pile of loose grainstalks, just staring at something lying there.

Mrs. Bero gathered her strength and entered the barn. She walked over to stand next to her husband. As she got close she could see what they were looking at.

"By the gods…" she breathed.

Laying on the grainstalks and tucked into a camping pouch was the artist, looking reasonably healthy and sleeping fitfully.

No one could say anything else for several seconds, then Mr. Bero went over and picked her up in his arms. "Let's get her to the house," he said.

* * *

She woke one last time in a strange room and a strange bed. She almost jumped up when she saw a strange face, but as her vision cleared she realized who it was and smiled. "Mrs. Bero…" she whispered.

Mrs. Bero smiled down at her. "That's right, dear," she said, "it's me. You're going to be all right."

The artist's smile faded as she looked around. "Where am I?"

"In my bedroom. Oh, I'm so glad to see you, child. You gave us such a fright."

"Why? What did I do?"

Mrs. Bero blinked. "Don't you remember? Dear…you've been missing since night before last."

_That_ made her jump up. She regretted it immediately as her head swam and a sudden weakness almost made her fall back into the bed. Mrs. Bero caught her and laid her back down gently. "Take it easy," the woman said. "We sent for Doctor Mora so he can take a look at you. He should get here soon, but in the meantime you should rest."

"I'll try," the artist said, "It's just that I _do_ remember what happened…or, some of it anyway."

"That's good," a deep voice said. Both women turned at the sound. It was Mr. Bero. "I just came in to see how you were doing and ask if you were up to answering some questions these men have."

"What men?" Mrs. Bero said.

"Those investigators I told you about are here, along with a couple of Air Service men."

Mrs. Bero looked exasperated. "I _told_ you not to call them!"

"Now, Mother, you know good and well that if they're going to find whoever did this…"

"But look at her! She's in no shape to be interrogated!"

"It's all right," the artist said. When the others were quiet she repeated, "It's all right." She sat up more carefully. "I think I should tell what I remember before it fades. I might as well tell them."

The Beros looked at each other, then at her, then nodded in agreement. Mr. Bero went to get the men. Mrs. Bero took the artist's hand and said, "All right, but I'll stay with you. The moment you start to feel ill again I'll send them away."

The artist smiled and squeezed Mrs. Bero's hand. "Thank you."

Moments later Mr. Bero returned with four men in tow. All four were in uniform. Two were dressed as investigators in the regional constabulary. The others were in Air Service uniforms. Mr. Bero handled the introductions. "Ladies, these are Investigators Rai and Hyken of the Constabulary and Colonels Agee and Solis of the Air Service." He looked pointedly at the artist. "Are you sure you're ready to talk to these men?"

The artist nodded. "I'm ready."

The men approached the bed and took off their caps. Rai, the oldest-looking one of the group, started off. "Can you tell us where you've been?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I remember some things, but not enough to tell you that."

"Then, can you tell us what happened two nights ago?"

The artist told them what she remembered of that night, about waking up to the shadow men in her room, about struggling with them and the flash of light that knocked her out. "The next time I woke up I was in some kind of hospital ward."

"Hospital ward?" Hyken said. "Did you recognize it at all?"

The artist shrugged. "It was just a hospital ward like any other, as far as I could tell. It was a brightly lit room with doctors. One of them spoke to me. I couldn't tell what she said."

"She was speaking another language?" Rai said. "Did you recognize the accent?"

"No. It was just like with the shadow men. I couldn't understand a word."

"What else can you tell us about the hospital?"

"I was half asleep, lying down. I couldn't focus very well, but I remember…there was a window that looked out on another room. There was another doctor in that room talking to someone else."

"Another doctor?" Hyken asked.

"I don't think so. It was a woman in some kind of uniform."

The tall, broad-shouldered Colonel Agee spoke up then. "Can you describe the uniform?"

"I only saw the shirt clearly. It looked like one of those long-sleeved jerseys that the men who work in submersibles wear, but there were badges on it, like on the constables' jackets."

The colonels looked at each other as Rai continued the questioning. "Can you tell us more about the woman?"

"She was pretty. She had…dark exotic looks, like she was born in Mirria or Toray. You know, one of those tropical paradise nations on the equator."

Rai thought about that for a moment. "Would you be willing to work with one of our artists to create a picture of this woman?"

She looked at him for a second, then chuckled. "There's no need." She turned to Mrs. Bero. "Do you have some paper and a sharpened stylus?"

Mrs. Bero nodded and motioned to her husband. Mr. Bero went into a dresser drawer and found a pad of paper and stylus and handed them to the artist. She thanked him and got to work. For the next few minutes the only sound that could be heard in the bedroom was the scraping of the stylus's graphite point against the pad. The artist loved it. The sound reminded her of the best times in her life.

Unfortunately, Solis, the young, skinny colonel, felt the need to ruin the moment with more questions. "What else can you tell us about her? Did it seem like she was in charge? Did you hear her give anything that sounded like orders to the others?"

She sighed. "I can't be sure. I only saw her for a few seconds before I passed out again, and I couldn't hear what she and the other doctor were talking about. I suppose he could have been reporting to her." She began to shade the picture as she finished her answer. This time everyone remained silent until she finished. At one point she took a moment to examine the sketch, then erased and redrew a couple of things. She handed the pad to Rai with a smile. "Here she is."

Rai studied the sketch as thoroughly as he could before passing it on. Each uniformed man noted the woman's small mouth, expressive eyes, dark tied-up hair and dusky looks. When he got the pad Solis took the sketch out before passing the pad back to Mr. Bero. He then folded the sketch in two and tucked it in a pocket inside his jacket.

He knew he shouldn't, but Hyken couldn't help but ask: "What was wrong with her nose?"

The artist shrugged. "I don't know, but as far as I could tell all their noses were like that."

Colonel Agee leaned over and whispered something in Rai's ear. The investigator nodded and offered the artist a smile. "That will be all for now, Miss. Thank you for talking to us." With that the investigators donned their caps and left the room.

Agee turned to the Beros. "I'll have to ask you folks to leave as well."

Mrs. Bero took the artist's hand again. "We will not leave! This is our room and our house and you have no right…!"

"Please, Mrs. Bero," Agee said, "the things we have to discuss with her involve matters of our nation's security."

Mrs. Bero tightened her grip on the hand. "Well if she's involved, then we're involved! Don't you people understand what she's been through?"

As Agee and Mrs. Bero argued, Solis leaned over and whispered something to Mr. Bero. The farmer's eyes went wide just a split-second before he frowned and turned to his wife. In the most stentorian voice he could manage, he barked, "That's enough, woman! You turn her loose and follow me out that door, right now!"

Mrs. Bero was aghast. "But we can't just leave…"

Mr. Bero would brook no argument. "Mother, you and I are going to walk out of here and let these men do their jobs, right now!" He extended his hand to her and kept his eyes locked on hers.

Mrs. Bero withered slightly under her husband's gaze. She turned to her friend, who smiled and said, "It's all right. I'll be fine." Mrs. Bero didn't look the least bit comforted, but she gave the artist's hand a final squeeze and let go, then she took Mr. Bero's hand and the couple left the room. Colonel Solis followed them out and closed the door behind them. That left the artist alone with Colonel Agee. The officer came closer and sat down on the bed, then spoke in a quiet voice:

"Seven years ago, the Air Marshall set up an office charged with investigating and classifying reports of unknown airborne phenomena. In that time, the air services of other nations have set up similar offices."

"I've heard about them," the artist said, matching the colonel's tone of voice.

"Then I'm sure you've also heard that most of the things we investigate turn out to be things that can be explained within the realm of known science and technology, such as new, unfamiliar aircraft or weather patterns. In fact, of all the hundreds of reports our offices have received in all those years, little more than a dozen have actually involved any sightings that we couldn't immediately explain. Now, I'm telling you this because I want you to understand the importance of what I'm about to say next: There have been six such unexplainable sightings over the past ten days over our nation and two others. Do you understand? We've gone from about two such sightings a year to six in the past week."

"It sounds like you have a problem, then, but what has that got to do with me?"

"Because the latest sighting was Mrs. Bero's, on the night you were taken. It was what made her send her husband over to your farmhouse and what made him, in turn, call the constabulary. We were called in because we have certain agreements in place with local law enforcement. One of them is that we're to be notified in the event that any such airborne phenomenon involves someone's disappearance. You've made history here. This is the first time since the office was created that any of the agencies has had to act on that agreement."

The artist was dumbfounded for a minute. "What…you're saying that I was taken by _Little Blue Men_ or something?"

Agee shook his head. "No, I'm saying you were taken by Shadow Men and Mirrian women in submariner uniforms, if what you've told us today is true."

"What I told you _is_ true, but it doesn't mean they were people from outer space!"

"Not by itself, no, but along with this…" He took a small notebook out of his jacket and flipped to a page in the middle. "When the investigators examined your house they found evidence that the lock to your front door was cut through..."

"Well, they had to have gotten in some way…"

"Wait. Let me put it in the crime scene examiner's words: 'It looked like it was cut through with a blowtorch flame so thin it could be measured in micrometers.'"

"Why is that significant?"

"Because there's no such thing as a blowtorch with a flame that's not only that thin but that extends 'through the floor just inside, down through the wood and into the bedrock.' And then there's the lamp in your bedroom. The bulb was disabled the same way. Something hot and very thin burned through your window, the lampshade, the bulb and the wall beyond."

She finally understood what he was saying. "So they have ray guns now??"

"It's not impossible. Our own scientists have been experimenting with ways to turn rays of light into beams of destructive power."

"Well, how do you know someone else's scientists didn't just beat us to it?"

"We know. No nation is that far along in its research…no nation on _this_ planet, anyway."

"This is crazy! What other evidence do you have besides a lot of nebulous sightings and the damage to my house?"

Agee smiled and tapped his nose. "Your testimony."

"That could be a birth defect!"

"And everyone you saw in that hospital ward had _the exact same_ birth defect? Do you know what that makes them in biological terms?"

"I can only guess."

"Our scientists will be able to tell you when you talk to them. I'm sure they'll be interested in hearing your story about the equatorial and her hospital."

The artist's eyes narrowed. "Forget it! I'm done talking about this. I just want to forget it and get on with my life."

Colonel Agee just stared at her for a beat, then stood and donned his cap. "I'm afraid you don't understand, Miss. These people, whoever they are, possess aircraft of some bizarre design, technology decades, maybe centuries ahead of our own and they think they can operate in our nation with impunity. That makes them a strategic threat, one I'm obliged to defend us against, and all of that means I'm not giving you a choice."


	6. Segment Five

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. and CBS-Paramount Television. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE EQUATORIAL**

**By Darrin A. Colbourne**

* * *

Montoya walked into Control a few minutes after being summoned by Captain Pike. "You wanted to see me?"

"Remember when you said things always get worse?" She nodded. "Sensors, play the footage from a few minutes back on the main viewer."

Pike and Montoya turned to the screen and watched as the footage began to play. The Captain explained as events unfolded. "The neighbors found Anne right where Team One left her and carried her inside. That was a few hours before what's about to happen here. See those two cars in front of the house? One of them is a police car. The other looks like a military staff car. They arrived about an hour earlier carrying two cops and two military officers. They went in straight away. Anytime now you'll see the two cops leaving the house…there." They watched as two uniformed figures left the farmhouse and got into the police car. "Advance it a little, Sensors. Hold it! Start again from there. This is what I wanted you to see, Montoya."

Montoya's attention was riveted to the viewer. A few seconds after Pike finished speaking two more figures in uniform walked out of the house. They were holding a smaller figure captive between them and being trailed by two others, a broad-shouldered man in coveralls and a hefty woman in a housedress. The hefty woman looked frantic. She was trying to get away from the man and grabbing at the two uniformed figures. It was hard to tell looking on from above, but it seemed like she was also screaming bloody murder.

That barely registered with Montoya. Her attention was focused mainly on the small figure in baggy clothing being carried off by the two soldiers. "That's Anne, isn't it?"

"Near as we can tell." Pike said as the soldiers put their charge in the staff car and got in themselves. The two cars pulled away seconds later. "Realtime, Sensors!" Pike called out. The image shifted to the two vehicles driving along a dirt road. "They're headed toward her farm."

Montoya walked toward the viewer. "Please tell me they're taking her home."

"I doubt that. It's simply on the way. While we were watching the neighbors' farm we also caught some activity at Anne's. The platoon that was left there as a garrison yesterday has mounted up and is moving out. We expect them to rendezvous with the cars and escort them to the nearest secure location, most likely the base the troops came from."

Montoya stopped walking when she was standing to the right of the Navigation station. "What do they want with her?"

"They're probably asking the same question about us. They must think she's the key to finding the answer."

"What will they do to her?"

Pike hesitated. "There's no way to be certain…"

She wheeled on him. "Why Not?! You're always so certain about everything else! You're just the like the soldiers down there! You bully and you coerce and you don't care whose lives you ruin!"

The outburst brought Pike out of the command chair. He was seconds away from confining Montoya to quarters, but a look on the screen reminded him that there were more important issues to deal with at present, and she was simply reacting to them. He crossed his arms and forced himself to calm down before answering her. "All right, I'll tell you what I think: I think that they started questioning her in that house and they weren't satisfied with the answers she gave them, so now they're taking her someplace where she can be interrogated by intelligence specialists. I also think they'll treat her like a lab animal, poking and prodding her relentlessly until they find something that makes her special to us or at least find evidence of our examination of her. I also think that she'll spend the next several years under heavy military guard, or maybe it will be the rest of her life…and contrary to what you might be thinking I don't want to see that happen to her any more than _you_ do!"

There was a long, tense silence as the two of them faced off. Montoya backed down first. "I'm sorry," she said, "it's just…" She turned back to the screen. "I just want them to leave her alone. I wish _we'd_ left her alone."

Pike walked over and stood next to her. "Is that what you'd tell them if you could talk to them?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'd tell them to leave her alone. I'd say we were wrong for invading her home and causing this mess in the first place. I'd apologize to her and tell those men that it won't happen again and all we ask is that they leave her in peace."

Pike took a deep breath, then smiled and said, "Well, then it's lucky for you that you're _right_, Montoya, because some languages are universal, and since I am just like those soldiers there's one language we all have in common."

He was still smiling when she turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "I'm worried part of the message might get lost in the translation."

Pike's face turned deadly serious. "The _important_ part will come through loud and clear. Communicator, call Major Song to Control."

* * *

No one had said anything since leaving the Beros' farm. The artist was pondering her fate as she sat in the back seat of the staff car sandwiched between the two Air Service colonels. They were on the road leading back to her farm, but she thought it unlikely that they were taking her back there. Colonel Agee, on her right, had made it plain that there were people she needed to speak to, and it was doubtful that they'd be waiting in her little farmhouse. It was more likely that they were in the Capitol, or on some secret military base in some unspeakable wasteland, someplace far from home where they could do whatever they pleased with her without anyone ever finding out. The mere thought chilled her to the bone, but there was nothing she could do about it. Once the government decided you were so important to their agenda that they sent the military after you, resistance was futile.

The dread she felt about what awaited her was bad enough, but she couldn't take the damnable silence! She decided to try asking the officers some questions. She turned to Colonel Agee. "Why was I at the Beros' farm?"

"We've had men at your farm since the night you were taken." Agee said. "They probably realized that and took you someplace they knew we weren't watching."

"All right, but why the _Beros_' farm? There are lots of farms in this district where they could have left me, ones that are farther away, ones where you couldn't have reached me as easily as you did here. In fact, if what you think about them is true they could have left me anywhere else in the world, but they left me with the Beros. Why?"

Agee turned his head to face her. "I haven't the slightest idea."

She smiled. "I do. I think they left me there because somehow they knew that Mrs. Bero has been my dearest friend since I moved out here and they wanted me to be found and cared for when they brought me back."

The colonel frowned. "That's what you think?"

"Is it so hard to believe? If we're going to believe they have ray guns and space ships why not also make another leap and believe they have _compassion_?"

"Because it's just as likely that they took you to the Beros' place simply because it was the closest farm that wasn't yours. We may never know the reason. There's no telling what goes on in an alien mind."

"You're still so sure they're alien?"

"If you'd seen everything I've seen you wouldn't have to ask."

"I think I've seen more of them than you have, Colonel, and _I'm_ not sure who they are."

"Then how about this?" He took out his notebook again and flipped it to another page, then handed the book to the artist.

She looked at what was written on the page and frowned. "Are these supposed to be letters?"

Agee smiled. "You tell me."

"What makes you think I know?"

"Didn't you just profess to having seen more of our friends than I have?"

"Well, yes, but what does that have to do with…?"

"The Beros found you in their barn tucked into a camping pouch. There was an emblem on it." He pointed at the letters. "These figures were stitched around the perimeter of the emblem. I grouped them the way they were grouped on the patch."

She glanced at him, then turned back to the characters and tried to make sense out of them:

EARTH FLEET STAR THE OF DEPARTMENT UNITED

"All right," she said as she handed the notebook back, "maybe that is an alien language…"

"I'm confident that's exactly what our linguists will tell us." Agee said.

"Fine, but does being alien automatically mean they're hostile? _You_ just said you don't know what goes on in an alien mind. How do you know they mean to hurt us?"

"You can ask that after they kidnapped you?"

"They brought me back unharmed. Maybe they were just curious about me."

"You mean _us_. They were curious about us and they decided to start collecting specimens, and we don't know for sure that they didn't do you any harm while they had you. We'll find that out when you see our doctors. For now, from what you've told us and what I've seen this whole thing has the smell of some kind of tactical operation, maybe as prelude to a general invasion, and as long as that's a possibility I'm not going to let my guard down."

Agee went back to looking out his window while the artist thought about what he said. She hated to admit it even to herself, but he had a point. It was possible that the people who had taken her were hostile. Kidnapping was a hostile act, wasn't it? But then why take her to a hospital? Was she really nothing more than a lab animal to them? Then again, what about the doctor that spoke to her? Would you go out of your way to comfort a lab animal?

She sighed and looked up. All she saw was the roof of the car, but her thoughts went all the way to the sky. She hoped that they were reaching the Mirrian woman. _Can you hear me up there? If you can, could you come down here and explain all this?_ She lowered her head and chuckled when half a minute passed without a response.

"What is it?" Solis asked her.

She didn't have a chance to answer. Agee drew their attention to the right-side window. "There's our escort."

The others looked that way. The cars were coming up on the road that led to the artist's farm. There was a covered military truck coming from that direction. As the patrol and staff cars passed through the intersection the truck fell in behind them. The artist watched the truck all the way, wondering how many troops it was carrying.

Suddenly her senses were assaulted by a blinding flash and a deafening explosion that shattered the rear windscreen! She and the colonels were thrown forward by the blast. As she recovered and tried to pull herself back into the seat she felt the staff car accelerating. She blinked until her vision cleared and looked forward just in time to see another flash and feel another explosion. This one drove the patrol car they were following out of control and off the road. The driver of the staff car swerved to avoid a collision and ended up going off the road as well, but managed to keep control of the car, bringing it to a stop about thirty meters into the surrounding grassland.

With the car stopped dead and the surroundings quiet, the artist and the colonels climbed back into the seat and looked out through the back. The explosions had left two smoking holes in the road, driven the patrol car into the grass on the opposite side of the road and forced the truck to spin out and overturn. As they watched, the investigators staggered out of the car and soldiers began crawling out of the truck. Everyone emerging from the vehicles was haggard and bloodied, but otherwise intact. The artist and Colonel Solis looked on in awe, scarcely understanding what they were seeing.

Colonel Agee knew exactly what he was seeing. "Get back on the road," he growled. When nothing happened immediately he turned to the driver and yelled, "Get back on the road and get us away from here before…!"

He was interrupted by the howl of a windstorm that suddenly flared up around the car and kicked around rocks and loose dirt. The sound rose in volume and intensity with each passing second and was soon accompanied by the ghostly shriek of what sounded like a jet engine, but not like any jet the Air Service colonels had ever heard. Just when the noise became unbearable its source descended in front of the staff car and went into a hover. The occupants of the car stared out of the front windscreen in amazement at the big, black, insect-like aircraft. The machine was so close that its pilots could be seen through the tinted cockpit canopy and smoke could be seen rising from the guns mounted on its flanks.

Agee's next impulse was to order the driver to back up, but that option was taken away when another big, black aircraft descended behind them and landed. This craft was more familiar to the colonels. They recognized it as what aerodynamic theorists called a "lifting body", but neither had ever seen a working one before, much less a jet-propelled one that didn't require any kind of runway to land.

The artist, meanwhile, knew nothing of the science behind what she was seeing. Her only thought was that the arrival of the black aircraft spelled certain doom. She was sure that was the case when the rear of the second craft opened up and men wearing dark clothing and brandishing strange rods emerged on the run. _Shadow Men,_ she thought. Ten in all emerged and went around to the other side of the craft. The thing's profile blocked their view of the road, but she and the colonels were sure the Shadow Men were going to deal with the soldiers and investigators.

"Still think these people are capable of compassion?!" Agee called out over the noise.

The artist glared at him. "I think they could have done this at any time while you were occupying my farm, and if they had you'd have lost a lot more men than you're about to! Instead they took me somewhere that wouldn't require getting into a war with you, but would still allow me to get back home easily! I also think they might have left it at that if _you_ hadn't dragged me off!"

The sounds of random gunshots drew their attention back toward the road. There were only a few shots fired, followed by a minute or two of just the insect-craft's jets, then all ten Shadow Men came back around the lifting body and approached the staff car at a brisk march, rods at the ready. The insect-craft rose into the air as they approached, clearing the way for them to surround the car.

It was the break the driver had been waiting for. He drew his revolver and threw open the car door, then he rushed out and tried to get the drop on the Shadow Men. A flash from one of their rods hit him before he could fire. He doubled over in pain and vomited before he fell to the ground. When he was down the Shadow Men broke into a run and surrounded the car before anyone else could get out.

Agee and Solis eyed the alien soldiers' weapons, but the artist couldn't help but look at their faces. In daylight and so close she realized they weren't shadows at all. They wore dark uniforms and helmets, but they were people, almost like the people she'd seen every day when she was living in the city, people from different nations around the world. These men were the people Agee said were from another planet. If that were true, did that mean people were alike _everywhere_? Her mind reeled with questions, but she knew the colonels couldn't answer them and she knew she couldn't even talk to the aliens, so she tried to figure out whatever she could just by observing them.

"Oh my gods…" Solis breathed. The artist turned to him. He was looking out of the back of the car at the transport craft. The artist and Agee turned to look and were struck dumb.

She must have emerged from the craft when the fighting stopped. Now she was approaching the staff car at a quick but easy stride. She was still a fair distance away, and she was wearing a jacket over her uniform and a monogrammed cap, but the artist had no doubt who it was. The colonels were just as sure when she got close enough for them to make out her features. It was the Mirrian woman that the artist had described.

One of the soldiers spoke to her as she reached the car, then stood aside and let her get close. She looked in the window on Solis's side, stared at the three people in the back seat for a second, then opened the car door. She motioned for Solis to step out, then gave him room to comply. After another soldier pulled him away she bent down to look into the car again. Her eyes met the artist's and she smiled.

The artist grinned back. "I guess you did hear me…" she whispered.

Her smile melted as the Mirrian extended a hand to her. She looked at the hand, then at the Mirrian's face. She was still smiling, as if she wanted the artist to trust her. _If I do, where will you take me this time?_ the artist thought.

The two women stayed as they were for several seconds, the Mirrian offering her hand and the artist wondering if she should take it. The Mirrian's smile never wavered, and the artist soon found herself giving in. Slowly, unsteadily, she reached out to take the hand.

Agee grabbed her arm. "Don't…!" was all he could say.

She turned to glare at him, then shook his arm off. "Somehow, Colonel," she said, "I think I'm safer with _her_." With that she reached out more confidently and took the hand. The Mirrian helped her out of the car and the two women stood face to face just outside. Neither said anything, but both were smiling.

Agee kept his eye on the Mirrian as he slowly moved his hand to his jacket. If he could get his revolver out of his shoulder holster and put a bullet in the alien's head before…

His plotting was interrupted by two soft taps on the window behind him. He turned to see what it was and found a Shadow Man pointing the end of his flash rod right at him from the other side of the glass. He drew his hand away from his jacket just as slowly as he'd been reaching for the gun and turned back around. He found the Mirrian staring at him through the open door. The look on her face was one of utter contempt and as severe as any he'd ever seen on a person. In response, he smiled as genially as he could manage and raised his hands so that she could see them. That just made her frown more intensely, but ultimately she chose to ignore him and turned her attention back to the artist.

Agee watched as the women walked hand-in-hand to the lifting body and boarded it. The Shadow Men waited until they were out of sight to retreat back to the aircraft. When they were all aboard the craft took off with the same howling noise that the insect-craft made. Agee rushed out of the car when the thing was clear and looked up in time to see both craft streaking off in the direction of the artist's farm.

"He's alive!" Solis called out. Agee turned to see him checking on the driver.

"Stun weapon!" Agee said. "Just like the woman described."

Solis stood and looked up in the sky. "We know where they're going. We'll get him back to the barracks and get reinforcements. We can have a _battalion_ of men at that farm before…"

"No…" Agee said. When Solis looked at him in disbelief, he said, "It would be a waste of manpower. We're not ready to face them…not yet, anyway, and next time" - he glanced at the unconscious driver - "next time they might not be feeling so compassionate. We'll get more men, all right, but only observation platoons. We'll watch that farm day and night until we know why they find that woman so fascinating."

Solis smirked. "Maybe they just appreciate fine art."

Agee just glared at him. "Only fancy city snobs care about art. I'm sure those aliens have more important things on their minds."

* * *

The flight home had gone by so fast it hardly seemed necessary. The aircraft covered the distance to her farm in one swift leap as soon as the artist and the Mirrian had settled in, so the artist barely had time to notice the other people sharing the ride. There were two more men and one more woman in the craft's small passenger area. The other woman, small, fair-skinned and dark haired, stood as soon as she and the Mirrian entered and came over. She started to treat the cuts the artist received when the staff car's windscreen blew in and continued even after the craft landed again. The Shadow Men, who were riding in the cargo area, exited the craft as soon as it touched down in front of her farmhouse. A few minutes passed in silence, then the artist heard someone say something on a radio. One of the pilots answered, then called something out to the Mirrian. She responded, then waited patiently as the other woman - a nurse or doctor possibly - finished her work. That only took a minute more, then the nurse reported to the Mirrian. The Mirrian and the artist left immediately afterward, followed by the two men. The artist saw that they were wearing black coveralls with a colorful patch prominent on their left sides. On closer inspection she saw the patches had the same lettering that Agee had showed her. It made no more sense to her in context than it did in his notebook.

When they got to her farmhouse the artist saw that the Shadow Men had surrounded it as if they were on guard duty. One of them was holding the door open. The Mirrian let her lead the way inside. "Well, welcome to my home," she said, "though I guess you've been here before." She chuckled a little at that, but when she turned to look the Mirrian seemed hopelessly confused. "Right," the artist said, "You can't understand me…but it was kind of funny." That's when she noticed the Coverall Men fiddling with her lock. "What are they doing?" Of course no one answered, so she just watched as the Coverall Men took tools from their clothing and began working on the lock. "Are they trying to fix it?"

She turned back to the Mirrian, who was taking a tour of the living room. She walked around at a leisurely pace, taking in the furnishings and decorations. She stopped when she got to the work area. She examined the finished artworks near the easel with the blank canvas, then stared for a long time at the canvas itself.

"That's what I do," the artist said. "I'm a painter. I paint pictures for a living. I used to do it for fun, but I haven't been able to do that lately." The Mirrian turned to look at her. "I'm a painter. You know…" She mimed herself using a paintbrush. It made the Mirrian chuckle.

The artist sighed. "I guess you don't have artists where you're from," she said, then she turned back to watching the Coverall Men. They worked diligently, using what looked like tiny ray guns to weld the pieces of the mechanism back together. In no time at all they were done. They tested the lock, saw that it worked and reported to the Mirrian. When she responded they nodded to her and left, followed by the Shadow Man that had let them in. When they were gone the Mirrian came close, offered the artist one last smile and started to leave.

"No!" The artist said. She reached out and grabbed the Mirrian's arm. The alien wheeled on her. The artist took a step back and raised her hands. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, it's just…you can't just _leave_. There's so much I have to know! Who are you? Where do you come from? Why did you take me away from those Air Service men? Why did you take me _at all_? Look, I appreciate that we have no way of communicating, and I understand that you've done your best to make up for the other night, but you can't leave me wondering! Can't you tell me _anything_?"

The Mirrian just stared. There was a sorrowful look on her face, as if she could understand what the artist wanted but knew she couldn't do anything about it. Then she turned thoughtful, and then reached into one of her jacket pockets and pulled out a silver device. She reached her empty hand out to the artist again. The artist eyed her warily, then approached and held out her hand. The Mirrian put the device in her palm.

The artist examined it. It was a tiny, silver, rectangular box. It looked like it was made of metal, but the casing felt like no material she recognized. There was a tiny video screen with a set of small buttons underneath. "What is this?" She asked.

The Mirrian looked confused for a moment, then looked around the living room as if she'd find the answer there. She was right. When she spotted the wirecom she smiled, turned back to the artist and mimed the receiver by putting her hand to her ear and extending her thumb and little finger.

The artist raised an eyebrow. "This is a wire?" She said. When the Mirrian said nothing she pointed to the wirecom. "This is a wire communicator?" The Mirrian nodded. "This is a _wireless_ wire communicator," she said as she examined it further, "with a tiny video set." She turned to the Mirrian and smiled. "All right, I'll buy that. Why not?"

The Mirrian stood next to her, touched a button on the device and said something into it. A disembodied voice answered and she said something else. Another answer, then she said one more thing and touched another button. She smiled at the artist.

"Okay," the artist said, "I believe you."

The Mirrian touched another button on the device. The video screen lit up and displayed patterns the artist couldn't begin to recognize. Another button and a list of words written in the alien's language appeared. One of the words was highlighted by a blue stripe. Another button moved the stripe down to the word the Mirrian wanted. She turned to the artist, pointed at the word, then pointed at herself.

The artist pointed at the word. "That represents you?" She asked.

The Mirrian tapped her chest with her palm and said, "Isabel."

"Ee-sabell." The artist said. Isabel chuckled and nodded, then pointed at her. "Oh!" The artist tapped her chest with her palm. "Ojana."

"Oh-jahna." Isabel said.

Ojana smiled. "That's right. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Isabel."

Isabel smiled back, then spent the next few minutes showing Ojana how to use the wireless wire communicator to talk to her. When she was done the women held hands for a moment, then Isabel started to leave again. This time the alien stopped herself at the door. She turned around and asked a question. Ojana just shrugged, so Isabel pointed to the floor and asked again.

"I don't understand." Ojana said. "Do you want to know about the floor? About wood?"

Isabel huffed and thought for a moment, then tapped her chest again. "Isabel," she said. Ojana nodded. Isabel pointed to the floor. "Earth."

Ojana pointed at Isabel and whispered "Isabel", then pointed at the floor and said "Urth", then thought about it for a moment, shook her head and chuckled. "Of course," she said. "Of course you don't care about the floor." She tapped her chest. "Ojana." She pointed to the floor. "Bajor."

Isabel pointed to the floor. "Bay-jor," she said.

"That's right." Ojana said. "Welcome to Bajor, Isabel."

Both women smiled, then Isabel turned and left for good. Ojana followed her out the door and watched as she boarded her aircraft with her Shadow Men following close behind. Soon the ship was closed up and it rose into the air on a tornado wind. Ojana barely had time to appreciate the sight before the craft streaked away.

She was about to go back inside when she heard the sound of straining piston engines. Off in the distance she spotted four fighters turning in the direction Isabel's aircraft went. They were gaining altitude, trying their best to intercept a vehicle that was likely on its way back to "Urth" already. "You're wasting your time," she whispered to the pilots, then she looked down at the communicator. "Then again, maybe Isabel is wasting her time as well. We can't understand each other, but she wants me to call her every now and again?" Ojana of Bajor laughed at the absurdity of it all, then went back into her home. She would try one more time to start a new painting.


	7. Finale

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. and CBS-Paramount Television. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE EQUATORIAL**

**By Darrin A. Colbourne**

* * *

_Enterprise_ remained in orbit three more days so that the crew could monitor Ojana's and her neighbors' farms to make sure they weren't harassed by any more units of the Bajoran police or military. When the time passed without incident departure was set for the morning of the fourth day. Montoya was up early that morning and was spending time with Flores and Goren in their quarters while they waited. "The thing I still can't figure out is what's with their noses." Flores said. "There just doesn't seem to be any biological reason for the elaborate structure of the bridge."

"I don't see why it bothers you so much." Goren said. "Every race's physiognomy has some vestigial characteristics."

"True, but all those characteristics are holdovers from some point in our evolution when they actually served a purpose. I just don't see any purpose for a decoratively carved nose bridge on a primate."

"Maybe it used to be extra protection for the frontal lobes. You know, like skeletal chain mail."

"Okay, but if that's the case why don't they extend further along the brow ridge? And why aren't they more uniform from one person to another? We have detailed images of every Junoan--"

"Bajoran," Montoya corrected.

"Right--every _Bajoran_ we got samples from and I swear each one had a totally unique design on his or her nose bridge. It's nuts."

"Well, maybe they're like fingerprints or retinas," Montoya said, "something unique to each individual."

"Or maybe they're just plain birthmarks." Goren said.

"Thought of all that, but if that's what they are then why are they so prominent? The things that make retinas and fingerprints unique are invisible to the naked eye, but the nose bridge decorations are, like, right there saying 'Hi! Howya doin'?' And Nature imprints birthmarks in the skin. It doesn't engrave them in your skull." Flores leaned back in her bunk and sighed. "I just hate leaving without finding out." Then she had a sudden thought and turned to Montoya. "I don't suppose you could convince Ojana to come back up here and spend a couple of days so that I can do some really harmless, totally non-invasive scans?"

Montoya smiled and shook her head. "I think we need to give Ojana a nice long break before we visit her again."

Flores sighed again. "That's what I thought you'd say."

"Has she been using the field radio you gave her?" Goren asked.

"Only intermittently at first." Montoya said. "I think she was testing it to see if it worked and I'd respond. We had something of a breakthrough yesterday. We actually conversed for almost a minute."

"Did you understand her at all?"

"Not a word, but at least it shows she's confident enough to keep using it."

"That's good. We're recording everything she transmits to us and adding it to the language database we're compiling. It ought to…"

The Intercraft system interrupted him. "Now hear this: All hands to Departure Stations! All hands to Departure Stations! This is not a drill!"

"Time to go." Montoya said.

She and the others left the stateroom and started off for their respective departure stations. Before they split up, Goren said, "Hopefully we'll have an easier time of it at the next planet."

Flores smiled. "Yep. Maybe we'll get _real_ lucky and they'll have universal translators."

Montoya laughed and Goren made a face as he started off toward Main Damage Control. "Oh, please! Not that old myth!"

"What myth? I read somewhere that they're entirely plausible!"

"Yeah, the day somebody figures out how to make a computer _psychic_!" He shook his head and trotted off, leaving his colleagues giggling in his wake.

When they settled down, Flores got serious and turned to Montoya. "Belle, I wanted to say I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time while we were here. It's just…"

"There's no need to apologize." Montoya said. "Ben is right. We'll go on to the next world and start fresh, and hopefully we'll make smarter decisions there. Deal?"

Flores smiled. "Deal! I'll see you at the next world." With that she headed for the turbolift.

Montoya made her way to the Control Room and found Captain Pike and Number One already in their places. "Glad you could join us, Commander!" Pike said as Montoya took her station. "Care to give us a final status report on our survey of this world?"

"Well, we acquired barely five percent of the biological data we needed and we've highlighted serious shortcomings in our data collection methods, but the good news is we've made a native contact. I would say that the status of the survey is…Incomplete, but Progressing."

Pike smirked. "That'll have to do. Navigator, set course for the next AOR. Number One, take us out of orbit and engage at your discretion."

* * *

On the planet, Ojana went to answer a knock at her front door. The Beros' eldest and middle sons had come to pay her a visit. "Morning, Miss Pell." Bero Jarik said with a smile.

Ojana smiled right back. "Good morning, Jarik," she said to the teenager, then she turned to his younger brother. "And good morning to you, Sen. You look bigger every time I see you. Pretty soon you're going to be as big and strong as your brother."

Sen grinned. "Yes, Ma'am! I'll be twelve in two cycles, and I can already beat Jarik in any kind of foot race! It's kinda embarrassing, really. He's really starting to slow down in his old age."

Ojana chuckled and Jarik fought the urge to roll his eyes as he got down to business. "Pa sent us over to check out your North fields, Ma'am. He says we might be able to reclaim them if the soil's not too far gone. And he'll be over himself later this afternoon with some of our equipment so we can get started on harvesting the wild crops that can be used and clearing away what can't."

"Well, that's great!" Ojana said. "Thank you." She'd finally taken Mrs. Bero up on her standing offer two days ago, and in this instance it hadn't taken much cajoling to get Mr. Bero and sons to cooperate. Ojana was looking forward to the company. Recent events had shown her that the isolation wasn't all that preferable after all. "Would you boys like to come in and have something to eat?"

"No, thank you," Jarik said, "we had a big breakfast. Anyway, Pa wants us to get back and tell him about the field soon as we can."

"Then I'll let you get to it. Thanks again, boys."

"You're welcome. Come on, Sen."

Jarik turned to go, expecting his brother to be right behind him. Sen had turned, but only got a half step away before turning back. "Miss Pell," he said, "is it true you saw spacemen?"

"Sen!" Jarik said. "Ma said you're not supposed to talk about that!"

"It's all right, Jarik." Ojana said, then she turned to Sen and looked him right in the eye. "It's true, dear. I've seen spacemen."

Sen's eyes widened just a little. "What'd they look like?"

"They were people, just like us."

Sen frowned. "Come on! Spacemen can't look like us!"

Ojana crossed her arms. "Then what are they supposed to look like?"

"You know! They gotta have two heads, three arms, a bunch of eyes…and they're slimy, and they gotta wear space helmets cause they can't breathe our air!"

Ojana thought about it for a second. "Nope. No slime, two eyes, two arms, one head and they breathe our air just fine. They've got funny noses, though. They're all _smooth_."

Sen looked at Ojana as if _she_ had two heads, and this time Jarik _did_ roll his eyes. "Sen, wouldja leave her alone and come on?!"

Sen waved goodbye and rushed off to join his brother. "I just wanted to know about the spacemen, is all! I think she's putting us on! Whoever heard of a smooth nose…?"

Ojana smiled as she watched them walk away, then she went back inside and closed the door. When she was sure she was alone she reached into the pocket of her jeans and took out her wireless wire communicator and pressed the right buttons to make it work. "Isabel, are you there?" No answer. Ojana frowned, made sure she was working the device properly and tried again. "Is anybody there?" Still no answer. At first it bothered her. The few times she'd tried to use the thing someone always answered, even if it wasn't Isabel herself. The only explanation she could come up with was that there was no one there to answer anymore, but that only begged the question of where they were when they were answering in the first place, and pondering that just made Ojana's head hurt. Ultimately she sighed and pressed the right buttons once more.

"I'm going to take a risk, Isabel," she said. "I'm going to bet that you wouldn't have given me this thing if you knew that I wouldn't be able to reach you at all after only a few days. I'm betting that the only reason you're not responding is that you're too busy doing whatever it is you do when you're not kidnapping helpless artists, and that even if you can't talk to me, somehow, some way, my words will reach you wherever you are, so I'm just going to keep talking. I mean, that's the point, isn't it? Someday our two peoples will be able to understand each other, but until then, even if we can't understand each other now, it's best if we just keep talking.

"First, I think you'll be happy to know that Colonel Agee hasn't bothered me since he met you, though his men have become almost a permanent fixture just outside my farm. Still, for the next little while all they'll have to look at will be typical farming stuff. The Bero men are going to help me fix the place up."

She went over to her easel. "In the meantime, I'm getting back to painting for fun." She looked at the no-longer-blank canvas. There was now a detailed undersketch drawn on it, one that she'd worked on almost non-stop for a day and a night. "I'm going to paint you, surrounded by your Shadow Men and your black rocket ships. It's going to be great when it's done. You really should see it when you come back.

"And I say 'when' because I'm sure you'll be back." She walked over to her living room window and looked out at the land. "In fact, I'm so sure that I'm going to be prepared for you. I'm going to build a landing pad for your ships right in front of my door, just to make it easy for you." She smiled. "But try and come at a decent hour next time, okay? I need my sleep."

* * *

In space, _Enterprise_ jumped into warp, leaving a communications satellite behind in synchronous orbit around Bajor. The satellite would record Pell Ojana's words and transmit them in subspace bursts to its mother craft as long as the starship was in range. 


End file.
